


My Idiot Betas

by SushiOwl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Sex, College, Dating, Drunk Texting, Drunkenness, M/M, Matchmaker Peter Hale, POV Peter Hale, Rimming, The Hale Pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter told his betas and pack humans to let him know how they were doing every once and a while, he didn't mean “Text me at 3am while you're drunk off your ass.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Idiot Betas

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale).
> 
> This story takes what could have been and what if and rolls with it. The events mostly follow the first and second season but are altered. There is no Gerard Argent (because he sucks and I hate him) and season three never happens. All canon divergence is explained in the story. If you reach the end and have questions, tell me so I can clarify things for you. :D
> 
> A lot of the texts are taken from or at least inspired by the website Texts From Last Night.
> 
> I **do not** give my consent to have my works listed on goodreads.

_Big blue eyes, pointy nose, chasing mice, and digging holes._

Peter slowly opened his eyes to near pitch black darkness, wondering what time it was but not before silently cursing Stiles because that was his text tone.

 _Tiny paws, up the hill, suddenly you're standing still._ the tune went on as he pawed blindly at his bedside table for his phone. _What does the fox say?_ It cut off there, though it didn't used to. When the human had first set the tone in his phone, it had exploded into the most irritating sounds that could come out of a mouth, but Peter had threatened to maul Stiles and eat his corpse if he didn't make it less irritating.

Finally Peter got a handle on his phone and hit the button to lit up the screen, shutting his eyes against the blinding light with a grunt, before blinking to get used to it. **i just went to a chocolate syrup wrestling party and i cant find my way back to the dorm** the text read, and Peter stared at it for a while, before another came in. **on the bright side a chick licked me**

 **How much have you had to drink?** he texted back, picturing Stiles wandering around on the road and getting hit by a car.

A little while later Stiles answered **dont remember but it was all jello shots and everclear** and then half a minute later **wait found scott im cool**

Peter rolled onto his back and sighed deeply. This was not what he had anticipated when he had given all of his betas and pack humans new phones for graduation presents. They were all leaving Beacon Hills for college, so he had told them to let him know how they were doing once and a while. This translated, somehow, into texting him at ungodly hours when they were blitzed out of their brains. Being alpha could be trying at times.

What he regretted most was letting out the secret of getting werewolves drunk. Laura and Derek had been tight-lipped about it, as they were sensible creatures, and Cora hadn't known. Jackson had asked first, and Peter was quite immune to his pretty boy charm and even more so to the petulant whining he deteriorated into. Erica had come next, bearing cookies and a sweet smile, telling him that she didn't want to get shitfaced drunk all the time, she just wanted to be able to experience college like a normal student. Peter had kept the secret and the cookies. Scott hadn't been able to get the request out of his mouth before Peter had shot him down, so he'd slunk off all dejectedly.

Then the pack had sent Isaac. All he had to say was 'please' and Peter was spilling his guts, because who could say 'no' to that face? And thus the recipe of monkshood tincture was brought to light. After that Peter showed them how to make it and how much to mix with beer and liquor so they didn't get alcohol poisoning, which wouldn't have killed them but they would have wished it did. The only words of warning he could give them were 'Don't die.'

Everyone had been at their university for a couple months now, and Peter got a drunken text at least every other night. Stiles was the most talkative, predictably, because he was probably the most light weight, being less than 150lbs of skin, bone and bad stealth abilities. When Scott texted him, it was usually because he was the sober one at a party and wanted to complain to someone that would comprehend it. Peter's favorite text from him was when he and the others had attended a freshman bash. It read **Too many naked people here for this to be normal.** Ah, college.

Cora had texted him bright and early the morning after the freshman party with **I woke up at 5 this morning face down with gummy bears stuffed in my leggings.** He hadn't really known how to respond to that other than to chuckle into his coffee for a little bit. Later he asked her if she had eaten those gummy bears, and she had replied with **Duh.**

No one else that had gone to the party texted him, but Scott had assured them that none of them were dead. They were just making friends with their toilets.

Around noon on the day after Stiles's drunk texts, Peter decided to text him and make sure that he was alright. Hopefully he made it back to his dorm and didn't sleep on the front yard of a sorority house. Again.

 **Yeah, I'm okay.** Stiles texted back after a little bit. **I'm in my room trying to do my paper, but I'm so hungover that the internet is hard.**

Peter was glad to see that Stiles had his grasp of grammar and punctuation back. **How much do you remember from the party?**

**Not a lot. There's chocolate in my hair, so I assume it was a success. Sometimes the gods of alcohol choose to take you on a mysterious journey and you just have to go with it.**

Peter let himself smile, before he set his phone down and went back to making his lunch.

* * *

One perk of having a niece and nephew with their own mechanic shop was free oil changes. Derek got to do what he loved most, which was to be underneath cars for hours on end, leaving the customer relations to Laura. She could sell a tire rotation and full engine cleaning to someone with a brand new car. Also, she told Derek that if he got oil on the money one more time, she was going to claw his eyes out and play hacky sack with them.

Laura was at the desk behind the register with a magazine in her lap. She looked up when the bell above the door chimed cheerfully. She smiled at him and hopped down from her stool, dropping her magazine onto the counter with a plop. “Hey, Uncle Peter,” she said, leaning into the counter. “You know, someday we're going to charge you.”

“No, you won't,” he informed her sweetly as he handed over his keys.

She stuck out her tongue, before she turned her head and called, “Derek!” Then she looked at him again, a glint in her eye. “Well, you know what I want as payment. Gimme.” She held out her hand, flexing her fingers in grabby motions a couple times, until he relinquished his phone to her grasp.

It was Laura's favorite thing to scroll through all the drunk texts he got. Very soon, she was giggling.

“How's business?” Peter asked as he waited for Derek to come up, collect the keys and get started on the oil change.

Laura didn't even look up from the phone. “Pretty good since the only other shop in town has a pretty gruesome reputation.” Having someone die violently by kanima attack would have that effect. She grinned at something she read on the phone, before she turned her head and bellowed, “Derek, get your ass up here!”

“I'm coming!” came Derek's cranky voice from the back of the shop, then a softer, “Christ, woman.”

Laura rolled her eyes then looked to Peter. “Someone brought in an old Softail Slim for tune ups, and Derek is in love with it. I'm convinced he's going to marry it or just rub one off on it.”

Peter closed his eyes with a grimace. “I'm glad I don't know what that is, because I don't need to complete that mental image.” When he opened his eyes, Laura was grinning like the wolf she was.

“It's a motorcycle.”

“I hate you,” he hissed. “Give me my phone back. Your privileges have been revoked.” He reached out for it.

She just slapped his hand. “Nope, mine.” He huffed as she continued to scroll, before she started cackling.

“What's so funny?” Derek asked as he emerged, wiping his hands on a rag so grimy that there was no way it was doing any good. “Oh, hey Peter,” he said, offering a bit of a smile.

“Hi. You have a smudge of black,” Peter told him, pointing to his own chin. Derek reached up and rubbed at the spot. “Yeah, that's worse.”

Derek's cheek was all smeared now, but he didn't seem to care. He looked to Laura. “What's so funny?” he asked again.

“Oh, Stiles went to a chocolate syrup wrestling party, got licked by some girl and then forgot all about it,” Laura said absently, before she held out the keys to him without looking.

Derek was frowning pretty intensely as he slowly took the keys and turned to go get Peter's car to bring it into the garage. “Moron,” he grumbled, apparently not approving of Stiles's antics.

Peter watched him go, wondering why he cared so much. This wasn't the first time he's reacted unfavorably when he heard about Stiles being generally a complete hazard to his own health while at college. He had even _growled_ when he'd learned that Stiles had participated in a very intoxicated game of spin the bottle where instead of kissing the girl he'd staggered and face planted into her skirt. When Peter had asked, Derek had huffed that Stiles should be careful because he could actually die, but Peter was starting to see that was a lie.

He put that thought on the back burner for now and allowed himself to be distracted when Laura sighed loudly. He looked at her, and she offered him his phone back. “I was hoping for better blackmail material. All I have is that when Scott doesn't have a clean knife, he cuts food with his driver's license.”

“I am proud of his ingenuity,” Peter remarked with a smirk as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“They text you quite a bit. You're like a dad that won't ground them.”

“Ew, I am not,” he said haughtily, because really, he wasn't that old. “I'm thinking about changing my phone number so I can get nights of uninterrupted sleep back.”

She snorted at the notion. “You know you love them.”

“I do not,” Peter said, putting the proper amount of inflection into his voice to make it sound true.

Then his back pocket started to sing. _Can't keep up with my rhythm though they keep tryin'. Too quick for the lines they throw._ He sighed, not sure if he was prepared to deal with this one's particular brand of crazy. _I walk to the sound of my own drum. We go, they go, hey yeah yeah yeah._

Laura lifted her brows at him. “Who's that?”

“Erica,” he replied as he pulled his phone out to look at it.

 **I'm that hungover student in class ... On a Wednesday morning.** the screen said, and he smiled despite himself as Laura was leaning over the counter to look. He quickly tapped at his screen to inform her that it was hardly morning. It was the afternoon. She replied with **It's morning to me so it's morning to everyone else.**

Peter let out a laugh, before he showed Laura his screen. She grinned and sighed out, “I love that girl.”

He supposed he could admit to himself that he didn't mind her so much himself. He had a begrudging affection for all of his betas and the humans attached to the pack, even if they seemed to be trying to drive him up walls.

Back when the rogue alpha was running around Beacon Hills and biting random teenagers against their will, he had felt a surge of territorial protectiveness. This territory belonged to the Hale pack. No one was allowed to tromp around it and sink their teeth into anyone they pleased, especially people under the age of consent. Cora reported smelling a new werewolf at her school almost every day. First Scott, then Isaac, Erica, Boyd and finally Jackson. That was when people started to die.

Isaac's father was first, and that was how the boy got a room in the house Peter was sharing with his nieces and nephew. Next came one of Chris's hunters, the mechanic, a man and his wife after she had just given birth, and a woman conducting a rave.

It also tore Kate Argent to pieces when she went after it with her own personal arsenal. Peter had felt no great loss for her, as he and his family been itching to sink their claws into her the moment they caught her scent on the wind. But he had only just started a tentative alliance with Chris, and seeing him and his daughter pained over losing someone didn't bring him any happiness.

It was worse when Victoria Argent died as well. She went after Scott when she learned that he and Allison were involved, and the kanima ripped her down to protect him. It was a new discovery to find that the creature had a sense of brotherhood, of pack, and it allowed Peter and everyone else to capture him.

Peter had heard of a kanima before, but only in the vaguest sense. What he did know was that it had to be controlled, and the person inside those scales didn't know what they were doing. It was a part of its master, so they knew the alpha would come for it, hopefully before it sprouted wings. When he did, Peter finally got his teeth and claws on him.

As the alpha lay dying, his fangs and fur slowly subsided, leaving a scared kid, not any older than the ones he'd turned. He shivered as his body heat leaked out of the wounds crisscrossing his body and the gaping hole in his neck. “I just... wanted someone... to understand,” he had whispered, tears leaking out of the edges of his eyes as the light in them went out.

He was later identified as Matt Daehler, a kid that had disappeared from Beacon Hills a year or so prior to his rampage. How he had become a werewolf and gained his alpha status would always be unclear.

Now Peter was faced with five betas that, without a leader, would eventually become omegas and more than likely descend into madness. Looking at them, so unaware of themselves and what they were and so frightened, Peter couldn't let that happen. They were kids, like Cora, and they needed an alpha, needed someone to teach them. That territorial feeling he'd had changed into a need to protect these kids.

After most of his family died in a fire while he, Laura, Derek and Cora were at the damn _store_ and Talia's alpha status had been passed to him, he had sworn that he would never let anything happen in that could hurt his own again. That had meant family for years, but now it included five new wolves, the teenage humans attached to them, and a few parents.

But that was alright. The Hale pack used to be a big one and there was no reason it couldn't be again.

Peter jerked in surprise when Derek jingled his keys right in front of his face. He grabbed them, giving his smirking nephew a sharp look. “Did you vacuum the floors?” he asked, just to be a pain, but Derek was already walking off. He flipped Peter the bird over his shoulder, which just made him smile.

Erica's text tone jingled happily from his pocket, which made Laura look up from her magazine again. **I puked in my book bag. And omg I'm not even in the right fucking classroom.**

Laughter bubbled out of Peter, and he laid his forehead on his arm on the counter as he showed the text to his niece. She burst out laughing and nearly fell off her stool.

* * *

Every couple weeks or so, Peter met with Chris, Melissa and John to keep each other updated on the goings on in the pack. They'd been doing this ever since Peter had accepted the kids into the Hale pack. His and Chris's truce had been delicate at first, their only real connection being Allison's relationship with Scott, but after nearly three years of having to trust one another and fight against supernatural assailants together, they had become more than allies. They were friends.

It had taken a while for Melissa to trust Peter, understandably. Scott had wolfed out at her one full moon then fled. He'd ended up in the preserve, and Derek had brought him to the house. Peter had called Melissa to tell her he was fine, but the wolf was out of the cage, so to speak, so she might as well come over so he could tell her everything. At first she had been wary of letting 'some strange man' be responsible for her son's safety. She'd felt better when the sheriff came into the know as well.

It was impossible to keep John in the dark. As sheriff, he'd been witness to the aftermath of quite a bit of carnage. Stiles had begged for Peter to let him tell his father when John was in danger of losing his job. Peter had let in and helped him keep his badge. He'd said, at the time, that it was to stop Stiles's whining, but in all honesty it might have been because he wouldn't have been able to stand the shock wave of sadness that would have been caused if Stiles had cried. That brat's moods were just infectious.

So that's how the gatherings began. Peter had come to terms with the fact that he was a responsible adult now. Laura had called their luncheons 'Pack Parent Meetings,' to which he had automatically hissed at her. That made him feel so—so _old_. He was the youngest one at the meetings, thank you. He'd checked.

They were sitting at a table outside of a nice cafe, shaded against the warm Californian sun by a canopy. They'd gotten through pack business very quickly. Peter had informed them that everyone texted him on the morning after the last full moon to tell him that they hadn't lost control and mauled someone. Supernatural activity around Beacon Hills was nil. All was quiet.

Peter watched as Melissa and John reached for the salt at the same time, their hands brushing, then burst into nervous giggles before talking over each other, telling one another 'go ahead', 'you first' and 'I insist.' Peter smiled into his coffee as they acted like teenagers. This wasn't the first time they were absolute idiots around each other, and it wouldn't be the last. Whenever Peter said anything, they got so flustered. He'd have to try a different tactic to get them together, because it was well past time.

After Melissa salted her food then watched John like a hawk as he applied just a little to his—a request from Stiles, no doubt—she turned to Chris. “How is Allison doing? Does she still have a shot at the Summer Olympics?”

“I think so. She's been training nonstop since she found out there's an opening for her,” Chris respond, smiling in that slightly goofy way he did when he talked about his daughter.

Allison was the person that texted Peter the least, next to Danny, while also being the one who got drunk the least amount of times since everyone shipped off to college. She did still text him on the morning after, probably because it was just a tradition amongst the pack. The last text he had received from her had said **I left my wallet at the supermarket when I went to buy chips at 3am. I went back for it today and they remembered me as 'the girl who signed her receipt in blood.'**

That text had sent Peter from mildly amused in one moment to extremely concerned in the next. He had thought about telling Chris about it, but he also didn't want to worry him. He kept the drunk and hungover texting from the pack mostly to himself (and Laura). No one had gotten hurt yet, other than that time Stiles had lost quite a few layers of skin when removing the blanket of duct tape some frat boys had used to stick him to a ceiling.

Peter watched Chris as he talked, telling them all about how the archery club she was in all pitched in to buy her a new bow to take to the Olympics. His gaze dropped to Chris's mouth, watching his lips curve as he spoke and the attractive shapes they made. There was a scar in his lower lip that went halfway to his chin. It was thin and white and almost completely hidden. Peter only knew where it was because he had been present when Chris got it.

Right after most of the pack left for college, something new came to Beacon Hills and started to leave gnawed on body parts all over the place. Peter sent Derek and Laura onto one scent while he and Chris tracked another. They were lucky enough to come upon a disused storm drain that had become a lair littered with rotting meat and bones that had teeth marks on them.

The creature, a wild half man, half beast that was nothing like a werewolf and stank of decay, descended on them with a kind of ferocity that could only come with madness. Chris had shot it, and Peter had slashed at it with his claws, but it still kept coming at them, even with chunks missing out of its limbs and its intestines trying to ooze out of the holes in its belly. It had struck at them with unnatural strength and long, splintering claws.

Chris had finally this miniature flamethrower from his belt—really, who carried something like that?—and doused the creature in flames. Its black blood lit up like kerosene, and its thin flesh and brittle hair popped and sizzled like pockets of wetness in burning wood. It burned to nearly nothing in minutes, leaving twisted bones in its wake.

Chris had fallen against the wall of the drain immediately, unsteady, and Peter had pulled him close, putting Chris's arm over his shoulders and leading him away from the stench of death and burning. Chris was a warm, trembling weight against him, probably thrumming with adrenaline and general relief that he was still in one piece despite bleeding from several places, like his face.

When the hunter's legs gave out about a half mile away from his black SUV, Peter had caught him, putting his arm under his knees and swinging him up into a bridal carry. Chris had let out a surprised grunt at this change, but he didn't say anything immediately, just stared at Peter's face. Then he tongued his split lip, and that was so distracting that Peter nearly tripped over a branch even though he was _not looking_.

“You could have put me on your back,” Chris finally muttered.

“I could have,” Peter replied dryly, before he arched an eyebrow at the other man. “You don't have to make it weird.”

“I'm not making it weird,” Chris huffed, and oh, was that a blush on those high cheekbones?

Peter suppressed his smile. “Do you really mind?”

Chris took a deep breath and winced, before he shook his head. “Nah. I hurt too much to care.” He went silent again, and Peter just listened to his breathing and failed to not think about licking the blood from his face. “You know,” he said after a while. “I think that thing was a wendigo.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, eyelids drooping. He leaned his head just a bit against Peter's shoulder. “Could have been worse. Could have been a rougarou.” He cracked a smile then hissed, his tongue coming out again to swipe at the slice in his lip.

Peter blinked, coming back to the present when someone said his name. He was still staring at Chris's lips, but now Chris, Melissa and John were all staring back at him. Chris was smiling, his eyelids lowered just a touched. Peter sat up straighter, flicking his eyes around. “Sorry, I was thinking about something.”

“I asked if Scott or Allison have talked to you about their relationship,” Melissa said, hiding her smile behind her fingers.

“Ah,” Peter said, pulling out his phone and starting to scroll. “Nothing really noteworthy. They don't seem to be having any issues.” He could feel their eyes on him, but he was pretending that his phone was far more interesting than it actually was.

“Well, that's good,” Melissa said with a relieved sigh, and Peter looked up as she stood. “Welp, I've got to get to the hospital. I shall see you gentlemen later.”

“I'll walk you to your car,” John offered, getting up as well.

“Oh,” Melissa gushed, smiling. “Okay.” And they walked off side by side.

Peter rolled his eyes high, picking up his coffee again. “When do you think those two will finally get together?”

“Not sure,” Chris answered, looking in the direction they'd gone.

“It's interesting how some people can't see what's right in front of their faces.”

Chris slid his eyes to Peter's face, curling the edge of his lips up before he tongue came out to graze that scar. He flicked his gaze away again. “Yeah.”

Peter dribbled his coffee down his chin just a little bit.

* * *

Peter should probably get up, maybe go fix himself some breakfast, though it was drawing closer to lunch time now. He certainly should go take a shower and comb his hair at least. But no, he had absolutely no inclination to get up. He had his tablet propped against his knees, and he had been scrolling through the same stuff for hours now. He'd done this almost all of last night too, that is until he had fallen asleep with his tablet against his face. He blamed a certain human for his new found addiction.

_Big blue eyes, pointy nose, chasing mice, and digging holes._

Speak off the devil. Peter reached over and grabbed his phone without looking, making sure to finish reading a post before he looked at whatever Stiles wanted. He had never thought that discussions about sexism and racism in comics and video games could enthrall him so. At least he had managed to get out of the kitten tag.

 **Did you get that app I told you about?** Stiles was asking.

Peter huffed through his nose. There was no point in denying it. **Yes, and I now loathe you.**

**LOL Tumblr is awesome, isn't it? What else is an independently wealthy man such as yourself going to do but mindlessly sit on the internet for hours? You should follow my blog. It's foxinaredhoodie.**

Rolling his eyes skyward, Peter sent back **I'm surprised you didn't use littleredridingfox.**

Stiles's immediately response was **SHIT that's better!**

**Of course it is.**

**Wow, don't be smug or anything.**

A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. **I exist to be more witty than you.**

It took a moment or two, but Stiles replied with **You must have had to wait a while to find the reason for your existence since you're like twice my age.**

In the second that followed, Peter stared at those words, his eyes slowly getting wider and wider. He didn't know how to respond to this. Had Stiles said that in person, he probably would have been a red stain on floor.

 **OOOOOOOOOH!!!** was Stiles's next text, and Peter found himself growling. The next thing that Stiles sent was a picture.

**You are dead to me.** Peter informed him, before he set his phone face down on the bed and spent the next two hours scrolling through Stiles's blog.

* * *

It was almost halfway through the college year before everything started to implode on itself. It started with a party that almost everyone was attending. At just after eleven at night, everyone in the pack started to blow up his phone with a variation of the same text. **Jackson is crying.** After just a little bit of investigation, Peter found out that Jackson was not just crying. He was sobbing. He was inconsolable. He was huddled in the corner of a frat house and bawling his eyes out.

After his pack continued to flood his phone was frantic texts such as **HELP**  and **Jackson just threatening to kill a guy that laughed at him**  and **How hard do I have to hit him to knock him unconscious?** , Peter realised he would have to intervene.

 **Jackson, what's wrong?**  he asked his beta.

It took a minute, probably because operating a phone when drunk and crying your eyes out was difficult but he replied with **lydia broke up with me!!**

“Christ,” Peter whispered, because he'd seen this one from a mile away.

While most of the pack had gone to Palo Alto for college, Lydia was across the country at MIT. She and Jackson had been together since they were fifteen, but they had never had to deal with kind of distance before. So, naturally, their relationship crumbled. It had been barely holding together since Lydia boarded a plane to Massachusetts, and Peter guessed that Lydia was just tired of being tied to someone that she never saw.

It didn't help that they were both tactile people, and having an entire country between you and the person you can sex with is a sure way to become frustrated to a boiling point.

 **she doesnt love me anymore I love her but she doesnt love me!!** Jackson went on, too drunk and too sad for sentence breaks. **how can she do this to me?**

Peter shook his head, not sure what to say to that. Instead of texting anything to him, since it would likely be ignored anyway, he instead contacted Danny. **Your best friend needs you. Can you go and fetch him before he embarrasses himself beyond repair?**

Danny replied, making his phone burst into Hips Don't Lie—it was the song Danny had always played at the pack training sessions, so it just kind of stuck—to tell him **Yeah. I'm just studying in the library. I'll go get him. Thanks for telling me.**

Peter relaxed, knowing that Jackson was in capable hands now.

It took ten minutes, but Stiles texted with an update. **Danny just swooped in to rescue Jackson like the Gay Avenger. I'm glad, cause I don't think I could have looked at Jackson anymore. It was like the Titanic mixed with those sad puppy commercials mixed with jello shots.**

Peter snorted at that, because that descriptor was probably the most apt when it came to Jackson. It had taken a while for Peter to like the boy, mostly because Jackson's ego could rival Peter's own, and when they were in the same with each other it was stifling.

That changed when there was a knock at his door one day, and Peter opened it to find Jackson, all alone, which was very unusual. Jackson probably wouldn't have admitted it, but he hid behind people, used them as buffers, usually Lydia or Danny. If he had other people around, they softened the impact of his grating personality. So seeing Jackson there, expression naked and body language open had given Peter pause.

“Hey,” Jackson had said, voice soft and unsure. “Can we talk?”

Peter shook himself out of his surprise and stepped out of the way, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Of course, come in.” He led him to the sitting room, but Jackson hadn't sat, so Peter stayed standing as well. “What's on your mind?”

“I, uh...” Jackson started, not looking at Peter but instead everywhere else in the room. He was probably listening and scenting for anyone else that would hear him, but Derek and Laura had moved out months ago, and Cora was out with her friends. “I wanted to thank you,” he finally finished.

Peter kept his face blank. “For what?”

“For everything. I mean, for letting me be part of this pack, even though I almost killed you guys.” His eyebrows went up, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Especially since I almost killed you guys.”

Peter was well aware that the things that Jackson had done while he was a kanima wasn't his fault. He hadn't asked to be controlled, for the inner turmoil that had left him open to the duality of being a scared kid and a vicious killer. He hadn't been able to help any of it. But Peter didn't say anything, just waited for Jackson to continue.

“You see,” the beta said, finally lifting his eyes to Peter's face. “I've never really felt any kind of connection to my parents. Sure, they give me everything I want, like a Porsche. They let me do anything I want, and they make the consequences disappear. But... I don't think they love me. And I don't think I love them.” He dropped into silence for a while, lowering his eyes and picking at the hem of his shirt. “But this pack. It's like a real family. You even welcomed Danny after I accidentally told him everything.”

Peter didn't tell him that the alternative would be to make Danny disappear.

“I just feel happy when I'm with everyone,” Jackson went on. “Even if McCall and Stilinski are fucking morons.”

Chuckling, Peter nodded in agreement.

Jackson cracked a smile. “But yeah, since I'm leaving for college soon, I just wanted to tell you. So, thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

They stared at each other as they went quiet. Jackson flicked his eyes around, side to side, down then back up again. “Is this where we bro hug?”

Peter snorted out a soft laugh. “Do you want a hug, Jackson?”

“No,” Jackson scoffed, but almost immediately he sagged. “Yeah.”

Peter held out his arms, and Jackson moved forward.

Just like then, Jackson needed a hug. Peter could trust Danny and the others to take care of him and probably only mock him a little bit.

In the morning after Jackson's episode, Peter texted him to ask if he was alive. It was Danny who responded with **He's okay. He's just vomiting up his intestines. I got him Gatorade and crackers for when he stops puking.**

Peter winced in sympathy then wished Danny luck. Jackson was not going to have a good day.

* * *

**So I hear you broke up with Jackson.** was what Peter sent to Lydia a few days later. It was a Saturday, so she wouldn't be in class. However, she was probably busy being the president of the math club—they called her The Queen—or doing whatever project or paper she was using to forward her academic career. So Peter wasn't surprised when she didn't text back right away.

He and Lydia had an interesting relationship. It was one based on mutual respect. She was the smartest girl—no, smartest person that he had ever met. Had she designs on world domination, she would have already had a throne and world leaders kneeling to kiss her feet. Instead she was going to solve P versus NP and probably cure cancer with the scribbles in the margins of her notebooks. And to top it all off, she was a banshee. Finding that out hadn't held her back for long.

It was some kind of dark sorcerer, a soul sucking magic user that had been attracted by the strength that was the pack bond they all shared. He wanted their essences, and he was strong enough to bat a werewolf around like a fly. He had grabbed Lydia by the throat, swatting the knife she'd endeavored so hard to learn how to use right out of her hand. “Scream,” he had snarled in her face. “Scream your last breath, because that's the only thing a girl as weak as you can do.”

So Lydia had screamed. She'd screamed so loud and so high that it shook the walls of the decrepit building they were in, breaking off pieces of the ceiling and shattering the windows. As the wolves grabbed their ears, the sorcerer's face had peeled off the bone, before his skull caved in and crushed his brain like a fist squeezing ground meat. He had fallen, convulsing on the ground before going still.

Everyone had stared with matching looks of surprise, the ringing in the ears of the wolves dying as their eardrums repaired themselves. Lydia had just blinked. “Oh,” she said, stepping away from the corpse and picking up her knife to put it in her thigh holster. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Almost everyone piled into cars and headed to Deaton's to take care of their wounds and drained energy. Derek, Jackson and Boyd were unconscious, so they needed immediate attention. Peter pulled Lydia off to the side as everyone left, so that they were alone.

“Are you alright?” he had asked her, aware of the tremors she was hiding.

“Yeah, I'm good,” she huffed out, putting her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Now I can add face melting to my long list of talents.” She glanced back at the prone body they had left to be discovered by someone else.

“Hm, I suppose that was a dumb question,” Peter admitted as they headed for the exit. “Are you going to _be_ alright?”

“Of course, I am,” she told him, before she pressed her lips together. “I'm a banshee.” Peter had lifted her brows at her, and she had simply shrugged. “What? I read the bestiary when I translated it for you.”

“You're never going to let me forget that, are you?”

Lydia's laugh was a cloud of white in front of her face in the chilled air. “No. You need me. I only keep you around in case hell grades on a curve.”

Peter grinned at that as they started down the short set of steps in the front of the building. “That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me.”

She giggled, but the sound quickly turned into a shriek when they reached the bottom of the steps and her foot slipped, landing wrong and her ankle snapping with a loud crack. _“Fuck!”_ she cried, fallen to the side and latching onto Peter's shoulders as he lunged forward to catch her.

Peter pulled her up into his arms, starting toward his car. “And that's what you get for wearing boots with heels. Not that they don't look fabulous, of course,” he deadpanned.

“Sit on it and spin,” she sobbed at him, twisting her fingers into his shirt. “These are comfortable.”

“Mmhm.” He very gently juggled her in his hold so he could open the passenger side door of his car and set her down in it. He crouched down, taking her by the calf and slowly pulling her boot off. She whimpered at the tugging but didn't say anything. “That is definitely broken,” he said, grimacing at the swelling of her ankle. It was rapidly becoming the size of a softball. Lydia just let out a wail.

As Peter was driving her to the hospital, Lydia dug around in his glove box. She found a silk handkerchief that Laura had gotten him, monogrammed with an elegant 'P.H.' in purple. Peter gave Lydia a look that said she better not use that to wipe her tears. She shot him a glare then blew her nose on it.

Lydia ended up getting a baby blue cast, because it was the color that was easiest to match to her wardrobe. She had grabbed Peter's hand when the bone was being set, crushing his knuckles together and making his fingers go numb. After he had feeling back in his hand, he'd signed her cast. That was when Ms Martin arrived, right as he finished his little note telling her she was too pretty to be so clumsy.

“Who are you?” Lydia's mother asked, and Peter stared at her a bit like a deer in headlights, because 'Not a pedophile!' wasn't a very good answer. Her eyebrows came down. “What are you doing in here?”

That was when Melissa burst in. “Sorry, hi!” she said, wrapping her hands around his arm and pulling him up. “He's a doctor. He just forgot his coat today.” She started tugging him toward the door. “He did your daughter's cast and was making sure everything set right. He was just leaving, haha!” Then she shoved him out of the room.

Even though Peter had nearly ended up as a registered sex offender, that was still one of his fondest memories.

It was hours after he'd texted Lydia about her splitting up with Jackson that his phone started to go of. _Woo hoo, witchy woman, see how high she flies. Woo hoo witchy woman, she got the moon in her eye._ He set down the wooden spoon he was using to stir the alfredo sauce for his pasta and picked up his phone.

 **Yeah, we broke up. It was long past due.** her text said.

Peter turned and leaned his hip against the counter. **I won't disagree with you, but why now?**

**The last conversation we had was him trying to apologize for cheating on me when I was trying to tell him I'd cheated on him. It's almost funny now how awful we'd been treating each other. It is time for it to be over.**

Well, Peter couldn't exactly fault that kind of logic. **Are you alright?** he ended up asking.

 **I will be.** was her reply.

**Text or call if you need to.**

**Always.**

* * *

Peter was a man of infinite patience. Mostly. He could certainly act like he was when he was on stakeouts, but that was because he was always partnered with Chris. They were sitting in Chris's black SUV at the end of a street, which Derek and Laura were in the Camaro at the other side. There had been reports of some figure draped in black stealing into houses and taking everything silver while cutting down anyone that got in its way. So after coordinating with the sheriff's department, a large stash of silver was planted in a house, they were lying in wait. They had been for hours. It was nearly midnight.

He and Chris weren't speaking, but Peter didn't find the silence uncomfortable. He was content to sit there and peer out at the street while listening to the man next to him breathe. That is, until his phone started to go off. It was Erica's tone. Peter shifted, digging his phone out of his pocket as Chris looked over.

**Tell Isaac to stop being an alcohol nazi. He won't let me drink.**

Peter snorted. **How much have you had?**

 **Not enough.** was her prompt response.

“Everything okay?” Chris asked, looking back at the road now.

“Yes. My wolves are just being stupid, as to be expected. It is their default setting,” Peter answered lightly, which made Chris chuckle softly. Smiling himself, Peter sent off a text to Isaac that read, **Has Erica done something to warrant you disallowing her to drink?**

 _No one's gonna take me alive. The time has come to make things right. You and I must fight for our rights. You and I must fight to survive._ the phone sang out as Isaac replied. **She was dancing on tables and kicking people. We cut her off and put her in bed but by the time we got back to the drinks she was already there shirtless. She's the topless tequila ninja.**

The sound that exploded out of Peter was some mixture of a laugh and a howl, and he quickly covered his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Well, that was what they got for trying to control Erica, the wild moonchild. When Chris looked over again, Peter showed him the screen, which got him a little chuckle from the other man.

A little bit later Isaac texted again. **Boyd arrived. They growled back and forth for a while and then he wrapped her in a blanket and is now making her drink water and eat goldfish crackers. She made him promise that she could ride around on his back.**

 **Their relationship is beautiful. Everyone should take notes.** was Peter's opinion.

It was about then that Chris tensed up, and Peter looked out at the street again, searching the darkness and shadows for movement. Something black oozed out of a window, silver glinting in its hold. “There it is,” Chris said, reaching into the backseat and grabbing his shotgun.

They both got out of the car, Peter moving ahead to surprise the creature so that Chris could fill it full of holes. When Peter got close enough, he noticed something that made him falter for a second. The black shadow wasn't even touching the ground.

There was a shout, and Derek leapt out of nowhere, trying to tackle the creature to the ground, but he just went right through it, taking a few silver spoons with him. Laura came up to slash at it, but whatever holes she made just filled in with blackness again. The creature swatted Laura away, bending down to pick up its fallen silver, apparently single minded.

Seeing his niece bounce and skid across the road made Peter see red, and he charged forward, bringing his claw across the creatures face. It shrieked, dropping its silver and bringing long, thin black fingers up to cover the wound, dark red blood dripping onto the ground. It lashed its hands out in a violent, fast movement, grabbing onto Peter's shoulders and pinning him to someone's lawn.

Peter dug his claws into darkness, finding dry flesh and pulling at it. His face was twisted up, eyes gleaming red and fangs bared, roaring right back at the creature as it screamed.

It ripped its claws down his chest, rending his shirt and flesh to tatters and pulling a cry from his mouth. Its eyes were empty black pits, and it opened its mouth wide, revealing row after row of jagged yellowed teeth, spiraling into the abyss that was its throat.

The shot was deafening. The creature's head blew apart like a melon with firecrackers inside, and Peter was not exactly proud of the flail he did to push it off of him when it collapsed. The darkness around it faded to nothing, leaving a small, bony frame with ashen skin stretched across it. Its head was half gone, leaving a bottom jaw with rotten teeth.

“You okay?” Chris asked, leaning over Peter and offering him his hand.

Peter took it, letting himself be pulled up and looking over at the wretched thing, half expecting it to come back to life. Derek and Laura came closer, inspecting it, their faces twisting up as they sniffed. It smelled like decay.

“You're bleeding,” Laura said, looking over at him. “A lot.”

Peter honestly couldn't feel it. His whole body was numb. But when he looked down, he could see the slash marks that were taking their time to heal. His shirt was beyond repair, and his pants were slowly getting soaked with blood. “So I am,” he found himself saying.

“We should go,” Chris said, wrapping his arm around Peter's back. “Before the police get here and start asking questions. You guys go back to Derek's car. I'll take Peter to mine. I have a first aid kit. If I need to, I'll take him to Deaton.”

Peter may not have been able to feel his wounds, but he could definitely feel the warm weight of Chris's arm. He leaned a bit into his side, willing to fake wobbly knees. “He's right. Go on. I'll be fine.” He shooed Derek and Laura away as they stared at him, unconvinced, before they left down the street as Chris pulled him down the opposite end.

Chris opened the hatchback of his car and directed for Peter to sit on the bumper, before he dug around for his first aide kit. He pulled out a small pair of scissors and cut away at the rags over Peter's upper half, setting the sticky fabric to the side.

“I liked that shirt,” Peter said, mostly for the sake of complaining as he watched Chris's nimble fingers.

Chris just snorted, shaking his head, before he started to wipe the blood away from the slash marks. Peter hissed, and Chris just lifted his eyes up, the blue oddly luminescent into the light of the car. “Don't be such a baby,” he said, smirking.

“Excuse you, I just got mauled,” Peter huffed out, gritting his teeth as Chris dabbed alcohol into a particularly deep cut.

“I noticed,” Chris replied with a sigh, before he started wrapping his chest and stomach with white bandages.

Peter could have told him that he need not bother, that the cuts would be healed soon enough. But there was something in Chris's eyes, a kind of distress he didn't let onto his face. Peter realized that Chris was doing this for his own peace of mind. So Peter just lifted his arms out of the way and watched in silence.

He appreciated the sentiment.

* * *

Among the things that Peter would like to hear in the morning, the Godzilla theme was not one of them. “No, Jackson,” he said, face down into his pillow. The message was probably just him complaining about Lydia again, though it had been a couple months since they'd broken up. Peter was close to threatening bodily harm.

He groaned as the theme played again, shuffling under his covers toward the bedside table. It was getting colder—well, as cold as Northern California got—and he was finding it more and more difficult to leave the snuggly warmth of his bed in the AM. He picked up his phone, pulling it under the covers with him and looked at the messages.

 **fuck help a girl I slept with just told me she has herpes** was Jackson's first text, and the second read. **shit I should have worn a condom!!! people with herpes should come with stickers so I know when to pack rubbers and when not to**

Peter stared at the message and contemplated taking Jackson off of the phone plan he'd set up for everyone. It was too early in the morning to deal with him. Peter was beginning to think that any time of the day was too early to deal with Jackson.

Another text from the moron came in, and it read, **wait since i'm a werewolf does that mean I can't get it?**

Of course it did. Peter decided not to answer, instead turning the volume off on his phone and rolling away from it. He'd bother with Jackson later when he'd had more sleep.

An hour or so later when he opened his eyes again, he had several frantic messages from Jackson. **peter hey!!** and **PETER WAKE UP MAN** He was glad he slept in when the messages just became **HEY HEY HEY** and variations there-of like that annoying blue fairy on one of Cora's video games.

He also got a few messages from other people. From Derek, he got **Jackson just asked me if werewolves can get STDs. I told him that if he does, he deserves it.**

From Cora, **Jackson asked if he can catch herpes. I told him it would become kanima herpes. I think he's crying now.**

And finally from Laura, **I love messing with Jackson. He just asked me if he can contract herpes. I told him born wolves can't, but with bitten wolves it varies case by case. I might have broken him, because he hasn't replied.**

Peter chuckled at his phone, shaking his head, before he opened up a text to Jackson. **No. You can't catch herpes. Now wear a condom every time. It's not just for your safety, but theirs as well. You dumbass.**

* * *

As he was making his late breakfast, he got a text from Lydia. **I met someone last night.**

Peter pushed his eggs around the pan, typing with one thumb. **Is he nice?**

**She's very nice.**

Staring, Peter nearly burned himself. **Please, continue.**

**I went to a party, and she started to hit on me. She was so adorably desperate I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't a lesbian. So now she's making waffles, may switch teams over this.**

Peter turned off the burner, trying to think up a better response than 'That's hot.' Eventually he went with, **I can hear the male population of the world mourning for the loss.**

**They had their chance.**

Touché.

* * *

Several hours later, Peter was called upon again when his phone started to sing out   _Hey, that sounds like my luck. I get the short end of it. Oh I love to be, I love to be the underdog._ That was Scott's tone. Unfortunately there were no songs titled I'm Pathetic But I'm Adorable, so Peter worked with what he had.

 **Help! I have a problem!** the text read.

 **Did you wear a condom?** Peter replied, unable to help himself.

**What?**

**Nothing, never mind. What's your problem?**

**I like someone.**

Peter lifted a brow at that. **I'm going to need some specificity.**

**Someone that isn't Allison.**

In his mind's eye, Peter could honestly see Scott, curled in on himself as he admitted this in shame. He slid his thumb up and down the side of his phone. **You know you can tell me anything, but I have to wonder why you aren't talking to Stiles about this.**

 **I did.** Scott answered, and Peter tilted his head, suddenly feeling a conflicting emotion at being second best when it came to advice, which was a bit ridiculous given what he _just said_ about Stiles. **He's having his own issues with liking someone he can't have.**

Oh? Peter narrowed his eyes a little, making a note to bother the human about this. **Alright, so you like someone. That's not bad. You're allowed to feel things. Are you planning on acting on these feelings? Is everything okay between you and Allison?**

 **I don't know.** Scott replied, before he quickly added, **To both those questions. Me and Allison have been arguing a lot, but I don't think we're going to break up or anything. But I REALLY like this someone.**

**Do I know this someone?**

It took a while, because Scott was probably debating telling the truth, but eventually he caved in and said, **Yeah.**

**Are you going to tell me, or should I start pulling names out of a hat?**

**It's Isaac.**

Ah. Well, that explained quite a lot. Isaac had a kind of charm about him that made you want to wrap him in blankets and keep him safe from anything that may want to hurt him. Peter was actually surprised that more of the pack wasn't attracted to him.

 **Have you thought about just telling Allison in an honest conversation?** Peter asked.

**NO!! What if she gets mad at me? Or worse! What if she starts to cry? What if we break up? I don't want to lose her. I love her.**

Peter very silently prayed for serenity. **I know you do. Can you ignore your feelings for Isaac?**

**I don't know. I don't think so. I see him everyday.**

**Then what are you going to do?**

**That's what I'm asking you for.**

Peter shook the phone like he wanted to do with Scott. **I'm not a Magic 8 Ball.**

**I know. You always give good advice though.**

And Scott was forgiven. Peter nearly preened. **I still think you should talk to Allison.**

**I know. I'm just scared.**

Oh, sweet little puppy. Peter sighed. **How about I talk to her first and get the lay of the land, so to speak?**

**You'll do that?**

**Yes, if it will help.**

**Thanks, Peter. You're the best.**

Peter smiled softly. He liked being the best.

* * *

Peter sent out two texts to different people. To Allison, a simple **Hi, how are things?** and to Stiles, a vague but certainly conniving **I hear you like someone.** Then he waited.

Predictably, Stiles replied first. **Wait, what? Who told you that?**

Peter smiled, reclining in his armchair with a glass of wine like some kind of movie villain. **Take a guess.**

**It was Scott, wasn't it? I bet it was. That bastard.**

**Don't be too mad at him. He's just concerned about you.** Peter lied with no shame. **It's painful liking someone unattainable.**

 **Fuck.** Stiles sent first, and a little bit later, he added, **Derek really is unattainable. I don't know if he likes me, and he's so far away.**

Peter smiled against the edge of his wine glass. **So it is Derek.**

Stiles's response was immediate and explosive. **YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!** Peter just chuckled, taking that as a compliment as Stiles continued to text him. **I should have known Scott wouldn't tell you.**

**No, your friend remains forever loyal.**

**Dammit. Well, now that you know, what do I do?**

Peter rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. **I don't understand why the concept of conversation is beyond you people. Just tell him, you moron.**

**That is an awful idea! What if it gets all awkward between us? I don't even know if he likes guys!**

**He does.** Peter replied simply.

**What, really?**

**Yes. I'm the one he had a crisis of sexuality at. I remember it vividly.**

Derek had been seventeen when he'd come to Peter and told him he was having _feelings_ for another boy, a student at the high school. Peter had said everything was going to be just fine, and when Derek had asked him how he could possibly know that, Peter had said “Well, I like men and I'm okay.” And that was how he and his nephew came out to each other. Well, it wasn't so much coming out for Peter since he hadn't really been in the closet, but that was neither here nor there.

 **Wow.** was Stiles's opinion. **Wait, but, what if he doesn't like guys anymore?**

**Liking dick isn't something that magically goes away overnight.**

**Haha, fuck you too.**

**Tell him.** Peter knew that Derek would probably be overjoyed, seeing as he was pining for Stiles anyway.

**I can't.**

**Tell him, or I will.** Peter swirled his wine in his glass, imagining lightning cracking behind him like the perfect ambiance to a devilish ploy.

 **You wouldn't do that, you bastard!** Stiles told him, and then, in a way that sounded small, **Would you?**

 **What do you think?** Peter replied. He wouldn't actually, because that was just cruel, but Stiles didn't need to know that.

**I think you're fucking evil. Fine! Give me some time.**

That was reasonable. **Christmas?** That was the next break from school. Stiles could see Derek in person.

**Christmas.**

**Excellent.** Peter allowed himself just a little bit of evil cackling.

**Okay, Mr Burns.**

Rude! He steepled his fingers anyway.

* * *

_Better beware I go bump in the night, devil may care with a lust for life. And I know you can't resist this, soon though you are addicted. Boy, you better run for your life._ Ah, Allison. Peter was glad she finally got back to him. He didn't mind that it had taken all day.

 **Hey! Things are good.** her cheerful text read.

Peter turned off his TV, turning on the couch and lying down to cross his ankles on the armrest. **Good to hear it. Your dad said your archery team bought you a new bow. How's training?**

**Yeah, it's a really nice compound bow. Still breaking it in. Training is good.**

**How are things with Scott?** He was the master of subtlety.

The few moments of silence it took for Allison to reply were very telling. **Okay**.

 **Just okay?** he gently pried.

**Yeah. I mean, we've been arguing a lot lately. And I've kind of been avoiding him. It's not his fault though.**

**What has you so stressed out? School work? Training?**

**No.** was Allison's prompt response, and Peter patiently waited for the elaboration that would come if he was quiet. **I have feelings for another person.**

Peter didn't laugh, but it was a near thing. **Anyone I know?**

**You won't say anything, right?**

**Of course not.**

**It's Isaac.**

Peter failed to keep his laughter in. He covered his eyes with his hand, shaking with what could only be called giggles. “Oh my God,” he wheezed. There was something beautifully tragic about this. **That's interesting.**

**Yeah, I don't know what to do.**

**I'm sure it'll all work out.**

**I hope so. I have to get back to my paper. Ttyl**.

Peter set his phone against his chest, looking up at the ceiling. So, Scott liked Isaac and Allison liked Isaac, and they were both too frightened to tell each other. It was adorable really, and it probably felt like life or death to them. It didn't make Peter feel old or anything, no really.

The one question that came up in his mind was: who did Isaac like? Among everyone in the pack, he was the only one that hadn't showed any interest in anyone. Scott and Allison had been glued together since the beginning. Jackson and Lydia had had their thing and were moving on. Stiles had liked Lydia forever but had now set his eyes on Derek, whom Peter had no doubt liked him right back. Laura and Cora went through boys like lip gloss. Even Peter had this thing—he wasn't going to call it a crush because he wasn't twelve—for Chris.

But Isaac hadn't expressed any feelings for anyone. Well! Time to find out!

He sent off a text asking if Isaac was busy or if he had time to talk. It took about a minute before Isaac replied. **Nope, I'm free. What's up?**

**I was just thinking. This may seem out of the blue to you, but have you had any feelings for anyone in the time I've known you?**

**That is out of the blue.** was Isaac's evasive response.

 **Maybe someone in the pack?** Peter pressed.

**Maybe.**

Because Peter was not above manipulation, he sent back, **You don't have to tell me.**

 **It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just awkward because it's two people.** Isaac replied, and the level of embarrassment was obvious even through text. **And they're together.**

No, it wasn't possible. The stars did not align that way. **Erica and Boyd?** he tested.

**Allison and Scott.**

An inhuman noise left Peter's mouth, and he covered it with his hand as he stared wide-eyed at his phones. So actual love triangles were real, not just fiction. Peter felt like he should be writing this down, documenting it for future generations.

 **It's not like it matters.** Isaac went on to text him. **I'm never going to tell them. I don't want to make our friendship awkward.**

 **You never know. They could like you back.** Peter suggested as lightly as he could.

**No. They don't.**

It wasn't often that Peter got a very aggressive urge to hug someone, but it was usually with Isaac when he did. **Well, thanks for telling me anyway.** You adorable little shit.

**Sure.**

It was time to hatch a plan.

* * *

It was Saturday morning, well nearing noon, and Peter was putting together a way to get three of his pack idiots to admit that they all had feelings for each other. It was coming together nicely, but he had to put it to the side for a moment when Erica's tone rang out.

**I lost my keys and my shirt. I'm standing here in my bra eating cereal.**

Peter snorted out a laugh. **It sounds like you had an interesting night.**

**I did. I went to a party, and this girl told me to leave because her boyfriend was hitting on me.**

**What did you do?**

**I was the bigger person and left.** Erica replied, but she almost immediately added, **Lol jk I pushed her into the pool and stole her liquor.**

Peter laughed brightly, imagining some indignant college student flailing around in a pool in December. **That's my girl.** he told her proudly.

**Damn right.**

Some days, Peter really missed Erica. Before she went off to college, she (along with Allison and Lydia) would come over all the time to have teenage sleepovers with Cora. Along with feeding them, he would sit there and resist the urge to keep the noise down because he was not a parent, and he was cool, dammit.

One night, when he had been reading in the living room as the girls squealed and chatted in Cora's room, Erica had come out and curled up next to him. She was dressed in her pajamas, full length bottoms with a long sleeve top, purple and covered in Eeyore. She pressed her face into the side of his arm.

He waited for her to speak, but she didn't, so he quietly asked, “Something I can help you with?”

“Can I kill this chick at school?” she had asked, voice small.

Peter closed his book. “What did she do?”

Erica rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, a very wolf-like thing to do. “She said that it doesn't matter how many slutty clothes I wear or how popular I get, I'll always be the girl who had a seizure and pissed herself in algebra.”

Peter didn't say anything right away, instead trying to keep himself from growling and closing his eyes to hide the flash of red. “Yes, you can kill her,” he decided.

Erica wrapped her arms around his and hugged it, and he looked at her, finding her round brown eyes wet. “I don't want to be that girl again. I thought that becoming a werewolf would change it, but I still had a seizure when Jackson attacked me. I don't want to go back to being invisible. To being sick. I don't want to be weak.”

“You are not weak,” he told her, shifting his arm so he could put it around her and pull her against his side. She lowered her eyes, pressing her face against him again. “You never were. Becoming a wolf doesn't change what a person is, inside or outside. You have always been strong, always beautiful and intelligent. You just have the confidence to show it now.” Erica looked up, so he smiled at her. “But, even though you could punch her through a wall, I wouldn't suggest actually doing it.”

“What should I do?” she asked.

“Prove you're above her. Ignore her. Show her that her existence means so little to you that her bullying isn't worth your time.” He held her gave for a moment, before his smile became a smirk. “And claw the shit out of her car when no one is looking.”

Erica let out a watery laugh, reaching up to rub at her eye with the heel of her hand.

“That's better,” he said, wrapping his other arm around her and giving her a squeeze.

Peter was happy that Erica was doing okay. In fact, she was better than okay. She was thriving. She had Boyd, who loved her, and she had the pack. She was doing well in her classes, and she was making new friends. She had everything going for her.

His phone trilled again. **Found my keys. They were in the cereal box.**

Peter laughed. **Go, my child, be free and conquer.**

* * *

Peter had the perfect plan. He managed not to laugh maniacally about it, but it was a near thing. Firstly, he called up Isaac, leaning against his kitchen island and bouncing his toe on the tile as he waited for him to answer. When he did, he schooled his features unless his grin was obvious in his tone. “Hi,” he greeted casually. “I have found a solution to your problem.”

“I have a problem?” Isaac asked.

“With Allison and Scott.”

“Oh,” Isaac said. “That's not really a prob—“

Peter was already shushing him. “I cannot, in good conscience, let you continue on as your are.”

Isaac sighed heavily into the phone. “What do you have in mind?”

“Brilliance,” Peter replied simply, because really, could it be anything else? “Your role is simple. I need you to mute yourself until I say not to.”

“What? Why?”

“You'll see. Just do it.” Peter paused, tilting his head and listening. “Are you muted? Say nothing if you are muted.” Silence answered him. “Okay, good.” Peter scrolled through his contact list, dialing Scott in a conference call.

“Hey, Peter,” Scott answered cheerfully, which always made Peter smile just a little bit.

“Hello. So, I have spoken to Allison,” Peter began, deciding to just jump in. “I have discovered that the issues with your relationship run deeper than you first anticipated.”

“What?!” Scott barked, before his voice dropped into a whine. “What does that mean? Does she want to break up with me? Oh God, she does, doesn't she? I should have known! Shit!” He kind of sobbed on the last word.

Peter rolled his eyes up and shook his head. “Don't be so dramatic. She loves you. But you two need to talk, which is why I'm calling her right now.” He pulled the phone away to find Allison's number.

“What?!” came Scott's teeny voice. “Wait!”

“Too late,” Peter said as he put his phone back to his ear. The ringing had already started.

“Hello?” Allison answered.

“Hi, Allison,” Peter replied sweetly. “I don't want you to feel ambushed but I have Scott on the line too.”

“Huh?”

Scott let out a withering little, “Hi.” Then he cleared his throat. “I feel ambushed too if it makes you feel better.”

“Oh,” Allison said, before she swallowed. “Hey.”

“Alright then,” Peter went on before they could descend any further into awkwardness. “I hope it comes to no great surprise to either of you that you are both godawful at communication. So here's your chance to admit to each other what you've been hiding. Go on now.” Neither of them said anything right away, which was to be expected. “No rush. I'll wait,” he urged gently, before he inspected his nails in the ensuing silence. “Judgment free zone here, guys.” He waited. He could hear them both breathing if he strained his ear, but they didn't seem very forthcoming. “Okay, really, one of you say something.” Nothing. He pressed his lips together. “I'm going to sing the Jeopardy theme,” he warned.

“I like someone else!” Scott blurted out at an octave that he probably hadn't hit since puberty.

“What?” Allison asked after a moment of tense quiet.

“I'm sorry,” Scott continued to moan. “I didn't mean to. It just happened. I—I mean nothing _happened!_ I just really like him.”

“Him? Who is him?” Allison didn't sound hurt, just curious, which was a good sign.

Scott heaved a sigh like it pained him. “Isaac. It's... It's Isaac.” He swallow, some shuffling come through the line. “Please say something,” he pleaded when she stayed quiet.

Then Allison started to laugh. It was a high, hysterical sound, something that sounded like was out of her control. “Oh my God!” she squeaked, before her laughter turned into wheezing giggles.

“Allison?” Scott asked, sounding worried.

“I like Isaac too!” she all but wailed, her laughter going loud and bright.

Scott huffed a laugh in return. “Really?”

Allison squeaked out a giggle. “Yeah.”

Peter smiled to himself as they both laughed loud and happy. “This is quite poetic,” he said once they quieted down. “Now that you two know each other's big secret, what are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?” Allison inquired.

“I assume you plan on staying together, correct?”

“Yeah!” Scott said immediately, before he made a tiny noise. “Uh, I mean, yes, right?”

Allison snickered. “Yes.”

“Do you plan on ignoring your feelings for Isaac?” Peter went on, rolling his eyes.

“Uuum,” was Scott brilliant input.

“Well, yeah,” Allison said. “Is there any other option?”

Peter tried not to scoff too loudly. “Of course there is. Might I suggest you two talk to Isaac and see if he would like to join you?”

“Oh my goodness,” was Allison's soft scandalized exhalation.

“Join us?” Scott echoed, sounding like a confused puppy even over the phone. “Like all three of us? Together?”

“That's... That's...” Allison apparently didn't know to word what that was.

“How would that even _work?_ ”

Peter dropped his face into his hand, chuckling. “I'll leave the logistics up to you three. You are in college. You are supposed to experiment.”

“I don't...” Scott tried.

Allison found her voice again. “But what if Isaac isn't interested?”

“That is a valid question. Isaac, are you interested?” Peter said, smiling.

“Yeah, I really am,” Isaac spoke up without hesitation.

Allison let out a little scream as Scott squawked out a sharp, “Holy shit!”

Peter was still grinning like the evil mastermind he was. “Now remember kids, buy plenty of condoms and lube. And when they legalize polygamous marriages, name your first child after me.” Then he ended the call on his end, leaving them to work out things on their own.

* * *

A few days later, he got a text from Scott that they all took his advice and it was actually working. He felt rather proud of himself before he realized something. “I orchestrated a threesome,” he murmured into quiet that was far too loud to his ears. “And I wasn't involved.” With wide eyes, he stared at nothing, before he went to go lie face down on his bed in the dark for a little while.

* * *

The windows were frosted white on Christmas morning when Peter awoke to the sound of his family laughing. He took a moment to zeroing in on the sounds of joy, finding them outside in front of the house. He got up, got dressed and headed down stairs. The house was decked to the nines in Christmas colors. There were red and gold garlands looping along the banister of the stairs and steaming down the halls. There were wreaths on every door and mistletoe—imitation, of course—at every archway. The house smelled like cinnamon and apple.

Cora and Laura were in charge of turning the house into an explosion of the holiday section of Macy's. Derek didn't have a decorative bone in his body, so he did little more than hold boxes for them. Peter mostly just watched, amused, and directed where Derek should put the tree (“No, a little to the left. Wait, that's too far, more right. Now that's too far!”). It was Laura's turn to put the top on the tree, and she did it with much fanfare. It was an angel, but on their first Christmas after the fire when they bought all new decorations, Laura had replaced the angel's head with a wolf's. She thought she was funny.

The outside of the house was a mass of lights, so bright that Peter slept with a pillow on his face because Cora wanted them to go all night.

When Peter stepped outside, he let out a surprised breath in a puff of white. It had snowed, actually snowed enough that the ground was a blanket of white, some places trampled where his family had run around like goofballs. But it was white as far as he could see, the trees around the house covered so completely that only their dark trunks could be seen in the wall of snow.

Derek was standing facing the house with Cora on one side of him and Laura on the other. They were breathing a little quick, like they'd been playing for a while yet. Their nose and cheeks were rosy, and they had flakes of snow in their dark hair.

Peter was glad to see them looking happy. “And what's going on here?” he asked, noticing the conspiratorial glint in their eyes.

Derek's lips split into a sly smile. “We just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“Did you?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

“Yup!” Laura said, and they all revealed the snowballs they had been hiding behind their backs before they promptly pelted him with them.

Peter let out a peal of laughter as the soft snow exploded across the arms he'd brought up to defend himself. “You will regret that!” he promised them as he ran down the steps, watching them scatter as he gathered some snow into his hands and lobbed it at the nearest brat, which happened to be Cora.

Soon the bite of cold in his fingers numbed to nothing, and he eventually couldn't feel his nose, but that didn't stop him from running around and hitting his family with snowballs. He got hit a fair amount of times too, but he just shook it off and retaliated. Him versus his family turned into boys versus girls. He and Derek ran through the trees, using them as shields against the frighteningly vicious and coordinated assault from Laura and Cora.

Then Laura used her heightened abilities to back flip out of the way of an oncoming snowball, and the rules of the game changed. Derek made it his mission to be faster than her, and soon Peter and Cora were just looking on as an all out brother versus sister war commenced.

Peter and Cora left them in the trees, going back to the yard where there was a fresh quarter inch of snow. “Think there's enough to make a snowman?” Cora asked, looking around them, before she blinked her brown eyes up at him. They were so bright and clear in the cold.

“Let's find out,” Peter suggested, and so they did. He took a bit too much delight rolling a ball of snow with his niece, but it was Christmas so he was allowed.

When they got the snowman's main parts assembled, they stepped back to look at it. “What should we make it look like?” Cora asked, and it wasn't even a half a moment later when there was a high laugh from Laura in the trees and a roar of indignation from Derek. Cora and Peter looked at each other and smiled.

Snowman Derek was a very angry snowman. Cora dug up some dirt to pepper some stubble on him as Peter managed to find a bent twig for his frown. His eyes were acorns, and his brows were inch thick rectangles of dirt pointed down. As Peter and Cora stepped back to admire their work, Derek came stomping out of the trees, muttering and shaking snow out of the inside of his shirt. Laura was howling with laughter behind him, holding her ribs.

“What is that?” Derek asked, coming to a stop near the snowman and frowning at it. “Is that supposed to be me?”

Peter could barely contain his chuckles as Cora leaned against him, practically in stitches. “It's a good likeness, isn't it?” he forced out.

Derek narrowed his eyes at it for a long moment. “Almost,” he said slowly, before he shrugged off his leather jacket and slung it over the snowman's “shoulders.” Then he turned and tackled a still laughing Laura to the ground.

After recovering from her giggles, Cora flopped back on the ground, announcing it was time for snow angels. Peter joined her, not feeling the tiniest bit silly about flailing his arms and legs about as his ass got so cold he couldn't feel it anymore. He made sure to draw a crown on his angel, while Cora gave hers pointy ears and a tail.

Christmas lunch was pleasant. Laura cooked, which was a first, since they usually just ordered a bunch of food from every take out place that was still open. The food was good, suspiciously so, and Peter, Derek and Cora kept glancing around like they were expecting a sudden onset of mercury poisoning. Then they all ate way too much pie.

After eating, they descended on their presents like, well, wolves. Everyone got quite a few things. Laura had demanded gift cards so she could blaze through the local mall like a tornado for post-holiday deals. Cora got every video game she had suggested (“Get me these ones or I will kill you.”). They had all pitched in to get Derek a gift package to a racing circuit a couple towns over so he could test drive an actual race car, and his face when he realized what it was exactly was priceless. Peter got BluRay sets, such as Game of Thrones, Spartacus and even Xena: Warrior Princess. He was going to watch all of them in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

After presents, everyone dispersed. Cora and Laura went into Cora's room to start their gaming marathon, and Derek said he was going to go out.

“To visit Stiles?” Peter asked as Derek neared the door.

His nephew froze for a brief moment before he let out a little cough. “No,” he said, not looking at Peter.

That just made him smile. “Did you get him something?”

Derek shifted. “It's in the car,” he said, before he hurried out and shut the door after him.

Peter just shook his head. He wondered if Stiles had told Derek yet about his feelings. If he hadn't, he would tonight, no doubt. Then they could stop dancing around each other and start dancing _with_ each other. And by dancing, of course he meant fucking, because really.

He is partway through the fourth episode of Game of Thrones and very invested in the entwined lives of these people when the doorbell rings. He pauses it, his mind full of medieval things, and looks at the time. It's just after seven o'clock. He can still hear Cora and Laura laughing down the hall, and Derek hasn't been home yet, so he assumed his endeavor was a success.

Peter got up and went to the door, opening it and blinking at who he saw there. “Chris,” he said, almost wishing he'd thought to scent his visitor first so he didn't look so surprised. But the surprise was too pleasant for him to really care.

“Hey,” Chris said, giving him a smile. He was dressed in a dark coat with a blue scarf that bright out the lightness of his eyes. Peter wanted to twirl his fingers in that scarf and pull the man closer. Chris held up a haphazardly wrapped present. “I got you this.”

Peter wordlessly took it, a bit stunned. He pulled the paper open and blinked at it. It was a shirt, all soft black material with a low v-neck like he always wore. It was also very familiar.

“That's the one the wraith destroyed, right?” Chris asked, sounding just a little uncertain.

“It is,” Peter breathed out, lifting his eyes again.

“Good, I just...” Chris swallowed, moving his eyes down, to the side then up again. “I wanted you to have it, you know, since you complained about losing it.”

Peter couldn't believe that Chris knew exactly the right shirt he'd been wearing that night a couple months ago, the exact style and size. He hadn't known Chris had been looking, that he cared. Then he realized something. “I didn't get you anything.” He didn't know he could.

Chris shook just shook his head, a sweet smile curving his lips. “You don't have to.”

Peter's heart clenched like that was a hand around it. “Thank you,” he breathed out.

Chris's smile brightened, and Peter hoped that touch of color on his cheeks wasn't just from the cold. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you're welcome.” He took an awkward step back. “Well, I've got to get back. Merry Christmas and so on.”

Snorting softly through his now, Peter nodded. “You too.”

“Bye,” Chris said, backing up, before he teetered a bit and had to turn to make sure he didn't fall. “Ah ha, steps. I knew those were there.” He cleared his throat, before he hurried to his car.

Peter watched him go, lifting the shirt to his face to take a deep breath of the man's lingering scent. It was clean like soap and just a little spicy like his aftershave. He could just see Chris's long fingers folding the shirt and trying to get wrapping paper around it with minimal issue. He wanted to put this shirt around one of his pillows and smell it every night until the scent went away. It wasn't weird. It was a wolf thing.

When he turned around to go back into the house, he almost leapt out of his skin when he saw Cora and Laura standing there. “Jesus,” he said, putting his hand to his heart and realizing just how distracted he had been if he hadn't heard or sensed them there. “I need to put bells on you two.”

The girls grinned at him, before they looked at each other. “Peter and Chris, sittin' in a tree,” Cora began.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Laura continued.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, if I make you two hot chocolate, will you never do that again?”

“That sounds acceptable,” Laura said with a nod.

“I want a lot of little marshmallows,” Cora informed him.

Peter just sighed and headed for the kitchen, putting the shirt on his shoulder to keep it close.

* * *

When Peter got a text from Stiles, he was expecting it to be about how he confessed his love for Derek. But Peter should have known not to expect things from Stiles. **Hey, I've got a question.** it said.

 **When don't you?** Peter replied.

**I know that werewolves get fangs, claws and fur, but are there any other differences between werewolves and humans?**

Peter lifted a brow. **Other than healing and heightened senses?**

**I mean specifically anatomy-wise.**

**Where in the anatomy?** Peter asked, starting to think he knew where this line of questioning was going.

**Um, you know, anywhere. Like, other similarities to canine brethren.**

Peter rolled his eyes. **Will you just say what you are thinking?**

**You know! Down... there.**

When Peter died, he was going to be raised to sainthood for all the things he had to deal with when it came to this pack. **Are you asking if werewolf dicks have knots, Stiles?**

 **NO!!** was Stiles's immediate response, and Peter could just picture him all flushed in the face and looking around in embarrassment. **yes**

Peter just smiled. **Why do you want to know?**

**Morbid curiosity?**

His smile turned a little vicious. **Ask Derek. It's his possible knot you want to know about, isn't it?**

**OMG NO!!**

**I don't believe you in the slightest. When you're professing your undying love for him, just ask about his equipment. I'm sure he'd love to show you.**

**Wait. Does that mean werewolves do have knots?**

Cackling, Peter just sent back, **I'm really not at liberty to say.** He set his phone down, ignoring the flood of texts from Stiles. He'd find out soon enough that werewolves had dicks just like regular humans, and he'd either be extremely relieved or extremely disappointed. Peter would leave Derek to deal with that.

* * *

Winter break was very nearly over, and soon everyone would be going back to college. Peter wasn't looking forward to having an empty house again. He missed the times when his nieces and nephews had all been living with him. When the first happened, Laura had been eighteen, Derek had been sixteen and Cora had been eleven, so he had suddenly be responsible for all of them.

He'd quickly sublet his two bedroom apartment to get a four bedroom one. Then he'd had to figure out what to do with the wreckage of the old Hale house. Eventually he'd decided to pull down the burnt walls and remove the wreckage. He'd had the basement filled in with dirt and a tree planted in the very center where the staircase had been. Laura had asked if she could put flowers around the tree. There were pink hollyhocks, native lilacs, baby blue eyes, California yellow poppies and deep red godetias.

About a half an acre to the side of the memorial, Peter had ordered the construction of another house. It had six bedrooms and two dens just like the old one, but the arrangement was completely different. He wanted it to be a new home, one that wouldn't remind his family of what they had lost but give them something new to call their own.

The first to move out was Laura. She had been twenty-two at the time, and she was making enough at her job at the library to afford her own place. Though she came back a few nights out of the week to eat dinner with them and have general family time.

Derek moved out three years later when he was twenty-one. He had Laura had opened the mechanic's shop, and he decided to live in the apartment above it. He wasn't very good about reaching out to pack when he was feeling lonely, but that was alright. Peter, Laura and Cora crashed his place frequently. Usually they brought food so he couldn't complain.

Two years later it was time for Cora to go to college, and suddenly Peter was alone in a very big house, especially since Isaac, who had been staying with them since his father died, was leaving too. He had to get used to the quiet first. After that the only prominent scent in the house was his own.

When the kids were going to leave, he knew he wouldn't be faced with so many random situations in which he had to be the responsible one. He had thought he would like that, but anxiety had gripped his heart when he realized most of his pack was leaving. That was why he bought everyone, even Derek and Laura, new phones so they could all keep in touch. He was going to miss being the Pack Adult.

One time when he was working on the kitchen table, his and the mechanic shop's tax papers strewn across the surface, Cora had come into the room. “Hey, Uncle Peter, can I go to the movies with Allison?” she asked, plopping down into the chair next to him.

Without looking up from his work, Peter had said, “Did you finish your homework?” Then his head snapped up, eyes widening a little. “Did I really just ask that?”

Cora giggled, before she covered her mouth.

Scrunching up his nose in distaste, Peter lowered his pen. “I feel like I should give you money for drugs to counteract that.”

With a bark of a laugh, Cora patted his hand. “How about you give me money to buy the new Portal, and I'll be antisocial and ignore my school work. It'll be like drugs, but I won't have to lace it with wolfsbane.”

Peter peered at her for a moment, before he pulled out his wallet. “Deal. Don't stay out too late. It's a school night.” He paused, staring down at his hands, because _what the fuck_. Finally he just slid his credit card out of his wallet and offered it to her. “Buy whatever the hell you want.”

She took it and gave him a kiss on the cheek before hurrying away with triumphant giggles.

Peter wasn't sure what happened to that eleven-year-old girl that he'd needed to take under his care. She had blossomed right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed until it was too late. He could remember her senior year of high school, the night of her prom, and she'd come into the entryway of the house. Peter's breath had caught in his throat because all of the sudden she was a young woman.

She was wearing a pale blue dress with no shoulders and a yoked skirt covered in lace. Her hair was pulled back from her face and curled. Her eyeliner made her eyes gleam. She smiled at everyone, before she did a twirl as Laura went to town taking pictures. “What do you think?” she asked.

“You look beautiful,” Peter told her, pulling her into a hug and kissing her forehead.

Cora's date looked nervous since Derek had been side-eying him since he arrived. Peter honestly couldn't remember his name, so he had called him 'Guy.' Actually, that might have been his real name. Guy stepped forward, holding a corsage in his hands. “You look really pretty.”

“Thanks,” she said, letting him tie the flower and ribbons around her wrist. “Oh, wait, I forgot my shawl. I'll be right back.”

When she hurried off, Guy was left with three wolves that all turned to stare wordlessly at him. He looked around at them, slowly sinking in on himself as the silence drew out. Peter could smell him start to sweat. “Uh,” Guy said, swallowing loudly. “I'll have her home by midnight?”

Peter gave him a humorless smile. “If you hurt her, there will be no place for you to hide.”

Guy started. “What—?”

“You won't be able to run fast enough,” Derek added in a neutral tone.

Laura was almost friendly as she smiled. “We are very creative.”

Before Guy could do little more than whimper, Cora flounced in with her shawl over her shoulders. “Okay, found it.” She looked around at everyone after getting a good look of Guy's expression. “Oh, are they threatening you?” she asked sweetly, wrapping her arms around one of Guy's and patting his shoulder. “Don't worry about them.” She smiled at him. “Besides, I'd kill you and your body would never be found. They needn't get involved.”

Guy had gone pale as Cora waved at everyone then pulled him out of the house.

* * *

Peter had been texting Stiles for a while on the day before he and everyone else were going back to Palo Alto. The first text had been a simple question: **How did things go with Derek?** When Stiles didn't answer right away, Peter got a little bit suspicious. **Not as you thought they would?** When that had been met with silence, Peter was pretty sure that something had gone wrong.

He knew that when Stiles had it in his head that he was going to do something, he always did. So he must have told Derek. Perhaps his nephew had stuck his head up his own ass and refused Stiles's advances. He more Peter thought about it, the more that sounded like a likely outcome. Derek wasn't exactly good at voicing his feelings, preferring to run away from them with his tail between his legs like a coward.

Peter decided it was time to question Derek. Texting and calling would do no good, because his nephew would just ignore him, so Peter decided to confront him face to face. He would most likely be at the shop, so Peter drove over there, planning on giving Derek a piece of his mind.

That was until he saw Stiles's blue jeep parked outside the shop. Peter rolled to a halt on the street corner, turning off his car and just watching for a minute. Perhaps the reason that Stiles hadn't answered him was because he hadn't gotten around to confessing his feelings just yet. Maybe that was what he was doing now. He kept watching until the door to the shop opened and out Stiles walked, his hair a mess and his clothes completely rumpled.

_Oh._

Stiles was heading for his car, a smile across his face. He paused, turning his head like he heard someone calling his name, and Derek came out of the shop too, holding a scarf in his hand. Stiles turned as Derek came up beside him, lifting the scar to wrap around Stiles's neck, before he fixed his collar.

Derek was smiling, saying something that made Stiles laugh. He lifted a hand and tried to tame the wildness of Stiles's hair, but he didn't manage much. Stiles just leaned into his hand, reaching up to touch his wrist. Derek ducked his head, pressing his lips into Stiles's as he cupped the back of his head. Stiles brought his hands up, wrapping his arms around Derek's back and pulling him forward until Stiles hit the door of his jeep and Derek was pressed against his front.

Peter smiled as he watched them, wishing his had a few handfuls of rose petals to shower them with. At least they'd finally come around. They had only been dancing around each other forever. Peter put his car in reverse and backed down the street slowly, not wanting to interrupt the lovers moment.

A little while later, he got a text from Stiles that read, **Everything is great.**

* * *

It was Pack Parent meeting time, and it was to be at Chris's house. Peter had the absurd want to bring flowers, but he refrained. He dressed in the shirt that he'd gotten for Christmas and a light jacket, maybe dressing up just a little. When he arrived, Chris had answered the door with a smile, eyes dropping to the shirt for a moment before letting him in.

“John and Melissa should be here soon,” Chris said as he led Peter to the dining room where there were boxes of pizza waiting.

“Actually, they won't be coming,” Peter informed him, opening the boxes and trying to find one appealing to him. He found a Hawaiian style pizza and was pleased.

“Oh?” Chris asked. “Why's that?”

“I told them that the meeting was a Rosio's. They'll arrive and eventually realize that they're the only ones at the meeting. I bought them a bottle of wine to share to ease the way for conversation.” He took a bite of his pizza and smiled around it.

Chris lifted his eyebrows at that, before he snorted. “And you didn't tell me?”

“I didn't want them to think you were an accessory.” Peter sat down, propping his feet up in the chair across from him.

Shaking his head, Chris turned toward the kitchen. “You're evil. Coffee?”

“Please,” Peter said.

Chris walked off, and after a little bit Peter's phone started to sing. _A rock and roll nurse going into my head, into my head, into my head, as I was lying in a hospital bed. I got the rock and roll nurse._ That was the song Peter had once caught Melissa singing at the top of her voice in her car, so it had become her ring tone.

 **Hey, where are you guys?** her text read.

Peter set down his slice of pizza. **We are at the Argent household.**

**Are you planning on coming to the restaurant?**

**Nope.** Peter replied cheerfully. **I decided that you and the good sheriff need a little alone time.**

There was silence for a minute. **You bastard.**

Peter just smiled. **Enjoy the wine.**

Chris came back into the dining room with a cup of coffee in one hand and a beer in the other. He handed Peter the coffee before he started to pile some pizza onto his own plate. “Was that Melissa?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?” Chris moved to sit at the chair at the head of the table, catty corner to Peter.

“She called me a bastard.”

Chris laughed around a bite of pepperoni. “Well, she's not wrong.”

Peter faked an affronted expression. “So mean to me,” he said, before he took a sip of his coffee. He nearly started, looking down at the cup. It was exactly the way he liked it. He looked at the other man and blinked in surprise.

Chris either didn't notice or wasn't going to acknowledge that he did. “Please, when have I ever been mean to you?”

Peter lifted a brow. “There was that one time you shot me with an arrow.”

“Hey,” Chris said, putting his elbow on the table and pointing at Peter. “I didn't know who you were then.”

Peter gave him a narrow-eyed look over his coffee. That was true. He had just met Scott in the woods then, after the boy had shifted for the first time. He'd heard the whine of the arrow moving through the air and had pushed Scott to the side only to get nailed in the shoulder himself. It was shortly after that he'd approached Chris to convince him that it wasn't him that was going around and turning teenagers but some other alpha.

They started talking about business. It had been quiet as of late. Maybe all the beasties were taking a break for the holidays and would be back for Valentine's. Peter could only hope, because as much as he liked running through the forest or going on stakeouts with Chris, he didn't so much enjoy the maiming that went with it.

“A few of my hunter buddies down south are tracking a band of skalengeck. They say that they should have them taken down soon enough, but there's a possibility they'll run and migrate our direction,” Chris was saying, his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand.

Agh, why did he have to be so handsome out of absolutely no where? This wonderful man that knew how Peter took his coffee even though he'd never told him.

“I've never heard of whatever that is,” Peter admitted with slight annoyance.

“Neither did I,” Chris said, which made Peter feel better. He straightened up and pulled out his phone. “They texted the details to me. I'll forward it to you.”

Peter just nodded, and he didn't mind until Chris's tone started to go off and he remembered what he'd set. _No matter how crazily, no matter how far, the moments of tenderness are those where you are._ Peter jerked, ripping his phone out of his pocket, but his fingers slipped on the slick case, and it went flying. _For when you are laughing, like silver, like rain._ He made mad grabs for it, but it just landed on the table, and he covered his face with a hand as his cheeks heated up. _You cool me, you soothe me and love me again._ What a graceful werewolf he was. _For a few perfect hours, the world lets me be. You know how to calm down the panic in me._

The silence that followed was heavy, and eventually Chris cleared his throat. “So, Elton John?”

“Yeah,” Peter huffed with a laugh. “It's just my default tone, you know.” He waved a hand as he lied.

“Uh huh,” Chris said, obviously not buying it. Peter looked at him, finding him smiling. “I like it.”

Now Peter couldn't help himself, not when Chris was looking at him with such gentle fondness. He stood, leaning over the corner of the table and pressing his lips against Chris's. They were chapped, he found, but he didn't care, and he swallowed the startled grunt the other man made before pressing his tongue inside his mouth. He tasted like beer and pepper spice from the food, and Peter thought it was delicious.

He set his hand on top of the backrest of Chris's chair, turning it so the man was facing out and he could slip into his lap, straddling his thighs. He wrapped his arms around Chris's shoulders and felt hands settle on his hips as he took inventory of Chris's mouth. He felt like he had been waiting for this forever, like there was a low electricity in his skin every time he was around the other man. He felt a churning want in his stomach that was never soothed, only stoked like a fire with every glance and subtle touch.

And now he had him. Their bodies were pressed close, and he could feel the heat of Chris's skin through the layers of his clothes. He wanted to peel those fabrics away to reveal flesh, to run his finger, lips and tongue along him every place he could. He could tell that Chris wanted it to by the way his fingers tightened on Peter's hips and he surged up into the kiss. Peter brought his hands around, pulling at the buttons of Chris's shirt to get at more of him.

Then Chris was pulling away, catching Peter's wrists and saying the worst thing he could in this situation. “Wait,” he breathed out.

“Why?” Peter asked, sagging a bit and kissing at the corner of Chris's mouth.

“It's just...” Chris swallowed and turned his head away. “It's been a while. I need a moment to process this.”

Peter sat back, looking at his face and wanting to chase the uncertainty away with his mouth. “Okay,” he eventually said, dropping his arms.

It had been nearly three years since Victoria died, and in that time Chris hadn't been with anyone else that Peter had smelled. Peter had always felt a thrill of attraction around the man, but he never dared to act on it, not while he was grieving. And after a while he had continued to hold back, not sure when it would be alright. He had thought that Chris was giving him signals, but perhaps he was wrong.

He started moving back, intending to go back to his own chair, but Chris's hands hold him there on his lap. “No, you don't have to do that,” Chris murmured, before he licked his lips. “Kissing is fine. But beyond that we should probably go on a date or something.”

“Oh,” Peter said, putting his hands on either side of Chris's neck. “I could do dating.” He leaned in and kissed him again.

* * *

Peter was getting ready for his date with Chris when his phone went off. _The gloves are off. You've hit below the belt. Now it's time out, baby, and they've rung the bell._ The was Cora's tone, a song she'd picked herself and had threatened to break his phone if he changed it. Her text read: **I just hit the guy I like with my car.**

Peter stared at that message for a moment. **What?**

 **Not hard!** Cora immediately assured him. **I just bumped him. Think I can convince him it was a love tap?**

With a roll of his eyes, Peter tugged the tie from his neck. He wasn't sure if this date was fancy or casual. The restaurant they were going to could mean either. **Buy him a coffee and find out.** he suggested to his niece.

**Good plan.**

Peter ended up going with a purple shirt and a black vest with his dark slacks. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and turned every which way in front of the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place. He gave his butt a look accessing look and nodded. Perfect.

As he waited (not on the porch like a desperate teenager), he got another text, this time not from anyone in particular because it was just a neutral 'beep beep!' He looked at it and found it was a chain message from all the girls. **I wake up every morning and wish I didn't have to wear a bra.** Peter snorted.

He heard the crunch of gravel under car tires and looked back out the window to see Chris's SUV coming down the drive. He watched him park and get out of the car. He was wearing dark jeans, a black shirt and a leather jacket, which was an unbelievably hot look on him. Peter didn't run to the door immediately. Instead he waited a few breaths after Chris rang the bell then went to open the door. He didn't want to seem too eager.

He smiled at he opened the door. "Hi," he said, and it took a lot in him not to do a twirl when Chris's eyes traveled obviously down and up his body.

"Hey, ready to go?" Chris asked, his own smile curving his lips.

"More than."

The ride to the restaurant was one of comfortable silence. Peter kept glancing over at Chris, and whenever he was looking at the road, he could feel the quick looks that Chris was shooting his direction. When they got there, Peter let out a little laugh when Chris hurried to open the door for him.

"Who says chivalry is dead?" Peter remarked absently as they moved up to the hostess stand. It made Chris chuckle. Luckily Chris didn't try to hold out his chair for him, otherwise Peter would have lost it in a nice restaurant.

After they were seated and their drink orders were taken, Peter grabbed his cloth napkin and pulled it into his lap to fiddle with it. “This is long overdue, don't you think?” he asked.

Chris was running his thumb along the rim of his water glass. “Yeah, I do.”

They fell into easy conversation about anything and everything. They talked about John and Melissa. Neither of them knew how they were doing, but they assumed they were alright since they hadn't texted to say the date had crashed and burned. They talked about the pack. Peter told Chris that Stiles and Derek were now together, and Chris had stared at him as his mashed potatoes fell off his lifted fork. Then Chris had laughed just a little too loudly for their environment. He'd quickly covered his mouth with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he chuckled.

“Gotta say I wasn't expecting that,” Chris said as he picked up his forkful of potato again. “I saw how they look at each other, but I didn't think they'd ever doing anything about it.”

“I may have blackmailed Stiles just a little.” Peter held his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “I told him that if he didn't tell Derek then I would.” He withered a little when Chris gave him a look. “I wasn't going to really. I just wanted to give Stiles that little push. I knew Derek would never say a word.”

Chris shook his head. “As I have said before, you are evil.” He pushed some more chives off of his potatoes. “I wish I knew how to manipulate Allison into telling me things. Lately when I ask her about how things are going with Scott, she gets vague and defensive.”

Peter tipped his head to the side just a touch. “I haven't heard anything from Allison or Scott recently that would suggest they are having issues with their relationship.” In fact, whenever he asked, they both seemed very happy, and so did Isaac.

Chris shrugged a shoulder. “I don't know. When she came home, she and I went to eat Christmas dinner with Melissa and Scott. Everything seemed fine then, but I feel like there's something she's not telling me.”

Peter's lips quirked up at one edge as he cut into his steak. “Isaac was there, wasn't he?” he asked as if he didn't already know, tugging the bite of meat of his fork with his teeth.

“Yeah, why?” Chris asked with a blink.

“No reason.”

Chris narrowed his as a little as Peter kept his most innocent face on. “Is there something you know that you're not telling me?” he inquired in a low voice. “Is my daughter in some kind of trouble?”

Peter pressed his lips together to keep his laughter in. “She's not pregnant, if that's what you mean. She and Scott have—mm—reevaluated the terms of their relationship. They were having issues. I helped them talk through them, and now they are closer than ever.” He reached across the table to lay his fingers over the backs of Chris's knuckles. “You don't need to worry.”

Chris looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but instead he turned his hand and caught Peter's fingers, lifting them so he could brush his lips lightly against them. Such a simple touch just stoked the fire low in Peter, a burning that made him want to push the table over and pounce the man to the ground. He didn't, obviously, but he did smile and give Chris's hand a squeeze before he pulled it away to continue eating.

They lapsed into conversation about casual things again. They talked about the gifts they'd gotten on Christmas. Peter not so subtly hinted that the shirt Chris had gotten him was no his favorite, and it made Chris laugh in a way that scrunched up his nose. Chris had apparently gotten gun oil from his daughter, which he appreciated. When Peter mentioned the TV box sets he'd gotten, Chris blinked at him.

“What's Game of Thrones?” he asked, one brow going up.

Peter didn't know whether to feel happy that he was more in the loop than Chris or sad that he was into something that was maybe not targeting his age group. “It's a medieval fantasy show. You'd probably like it. I can loan you the DVDs if you want.” And maybe stare at him intently until he watched them so they could talk about them.

“Mm,” was Chris's opinion. “I'd probably enjoy it more if we watched them together.”

Peter straightened. “We can do that.” It didn't matter if he'd just finished watching the available seasons. He could watch them again if there was possible cuddling on a couch involved.

“Sure,” Chris told him with a smile.

After their plates were cleared away, the waiter brought over the vanilla and chocolate trifle that Peter had ordered. It had two spoons though, so apparently the staff was being presumptuous. Peter picked up his own spoon and took a bite, before making a noise that probably belonged in porn. “That's good,” he said, licking the concave of his spoon. Chris was staring at him intently, lips parted just a little, so Peter picked up the other spoon and offered it to him. “You have got to try this,” he said, waggling the spoon at him.

“No, that's okay,” Chris said with a smile.

“Come on,” Peter pestered, poking at the air with the spoon. “Just one bite then I'll be satisfied.”

Chris rolled his eyes, taking the spoon. “Just because you won't stop bugging me until I do.”

“I knew you understood me.”

Looking a bit like he was humoring a child, Chris dipped his spoon into the trifle, gathering a sufficient amount of chocolate, vanilla and lady fingers. He looked at the bite on his spoon for a second, before he put it in his mouth. Almost immediately his eyes went a little wide, and he made an appreciative 'mmm.' He went for another bite. “That _is_ good.”

“I told you,” Peter said as he dipped his finger in the cream and chocolate shavings on top. “You shouldn't doubt my taste.” He sucked the sweetness right off of his pinky, not missing the way Chris watched.

Together the annihilated the dessert pretty fast, chatting and chuckling every time their spoons clinked. Soon they were down to just one bite, and their eyes met for one moment before they both went for it. They pushed at the backs of each other's spoons, chuckling as the bit of trifle got shoved around. Peter wished his inherit werewolf strength and grace gave him an advantage here, but it didn't, and he was left to pout when Chris managed to scoop up the last bite and steal it away.

Chris looked like he was going to eat it, even brought it up to his mouth, before he apparently succumbed to Peter's pitiful expression and offered it to him. Peter happily dragged the bite off of the spoon, his fingers brushing over Chris's wrist in the process. He left a lingering lick on the spoon, his eyes going half lidded as he gazed at Chris's face. When he kissed his fingers, Chris swallowed, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“You're awful,” Chris breathed as Peter sat back.

Peter just smiled, because duh.

A little while later they left, but only after a little squabble on who got to pay. Peter managed to give their kind of amused server his card first, and Chris just halfheartedly glared at him and kicked his shin gently under the table. Peter only felt about as smug as he could.

When they got back to Peter's house, Chris walked him to the door like the gentleman he was. Peter couldn't help but be forever amused, and Chris noticed. “What's that smile for?” he asked.

“Is this where you are all grossly romantic and kiss me goodnight?” Peter tilted his head, lifting his brows.

Chris seemed to be holding back a grin. “Do you want me to be grossly romantic?”

“I'll be disappointed if you don't.” Peter smiled sweetly at him.

Chris lifted a hand, cupping the side of Peter's face and leaning in to press their lips together. It was a sweet, chaste kiss, just a brush before Chris pulled back.

Damn did Peter want more. “What's your policy on first date sex?”

Chris snorted out a laugh through his nose. “I think I'd like to take things slow.”

“Hand jobs then?”

Chris just turned away, waving over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Peter.”

This was the beginning of a case of serious blue balls, he just knew it.

* * *

Peter and Chris went on a date at least once a month, which wasn't nearly as frequent as Peter preferred, but he couldn't exactly make Chris less busy. He had odd hours as a private security consultant. And at least they did get together at least a couple times in so many weeks to watch Game of Thrones. Twice now Chris had fallen asleep with his cheek resting on Peter's shoulder, and Peter would just sit there and breathe in his hair until he woke up. Then Peter would leave as Chris went to bed, feeling a bit drunk on the hunter's scent.

In March, during St Patty's Day weekend to be precise, Peter got a rather frantic text message from Stiles that said: **HELP!**

Peter narrowed his eyes at it. **What did you do?** he asked, knowing that Stiles was more often the victim of the consequences of his own ridiculous actions.

**We shaved Derek's eyebrows.**

There was a long bit of silence as Peter tried to process that. **What?**

**Me and Scott. We shaved Derek's eyebrows because he passed out first. Now we're afraid he's going to wake up and kill us. Please advise.**

It sounded like Derek was going to regret the fact that he took a few days off work to drive to Palo Alto and visit his boyfriend and the pack for the very drunken holiday. He had been so excited too, well, as excited as Derek ever got about something.

Peter let out a manly giggle. **I suggest running. But take a picture for me first.**

 **So unhelpful!** Stiles took a moment to take a picture of his sleeping nephew and sent it to him. Well, he definitely didn't have any eyebrows left. He looked a bit alien like that. **Do you think if we draw some eyebrows on him with a marker he'll notice?**

Peter could barely breathe, he was laughing so hard. **I'm pretty sure he will. Give it a shot and add marker streaks to the already present humiliation**.

**This is how I die.**

Derek didn't kill them, though he was in the most sour of moods when he returned to Beacon Hills. He wore a cap with a low bill while his eyebrows grew back.

* * *

Summer rolled around eventually. Peter and Chris still hadn't had sex, and Peter was pretty sure he was going to die if that didn't change. He was that dramatic. No amount of throwing himself at the man was working. Chris was some kind of ice king. Oh well, at least Peter would soon be distracted.

Everyone was coming home for the break. Even Lydia was flying home to be with the pack and her parents. Peter had told them he was going to throw them a party in celebration of them all completing their first year of college. He was looking forward to having everyone around again.

On the morning of the day everyone was supposed to arrive, Peter woke up to whispering. He could feel several people behind him near the door, and he stayed still as he worked out their scents. He smiled when he realized it was his pack.

“He's asleep,” Scott was saying softly. “We should let him sleep, right?”

“What is he like when he first wakes up?” Erica asked. “Is he grumpy?”

“I've only ever seen him fully awake and perfectly groomed,” Isaac said, which made Peter smile. The boy had lived with him for two years, and he had been notorious about sleeping in once he was comfortable. He was only summoned from his room in the mornings by the smell of cooking food.

“Think he'll get mad if we see his bedhead?” Scott murmured.

“You guys are idiots,” Jackson huffed out. “Let the man sleep.”

“Why are you guys standing in his room and watching him sleep?” came Boyd docile voice.

“Fu—!” Stiles bit out, and he was the only one surprised. “Jesus, man, announce your presence. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“We should let him sleep,” Scott went on.

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed.

“I have an idea,” Stiles whispered.

“Oh no,” was Scott's opinion, because he knew Stiles too well, and everyone asked what it was.

“Puppy pile!”

Peter opened his eyes, going to turn to look at them, but suddenly he was covered in giggling teenagers, and he sputtered out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too,” he side, turning and putting his arms around the nearest warm bodies, which happened to be Isaac and Scott.

Everyone crowded in around him. Erica and Boyd curled up against each other to one side, while Jackson flopped width ways at the bottom of his bed. Allison pressed against Isaac's back and Lydia pressed against her. Eventually Laura, Derek and Cora came in too, sensing that something was going on pack wise. Stiles flopped on top of Derek as Laura and Cora flattened Jackson. Once they all stopped squirming and were settled, Peter took a deep breath of his pack, of his family, and let himself be lulled back into sleep.

When they woke up again, it was time to get to partying. Peter ordered twenty pizzas, hoping that would satisfy both human and wolf. Danny arrived around one with his new boyfriend, another human named Ethan (who was apparently the gay one of a set of twins if Jackson was to be believed). He was in charge of the music, since he had been turning their pack training sessions into dance parties for years.

The first song he played was Party At A Rich Dude's House, which made Peter laugh. Derek would not dance, no matter how much pleading Stiles did. He just stood in the corner with his arms crossed. So Stiles danced with Cora instead. Jackson had somehow convinced Lydia to dance with him, and that turned pretty hot and heavy almost immediately.

Peter slid over to them. “So what's happening here?” he asked, and they looked at him, twin grins forming on their faces. “Have you two decided to get back together?”

“We have,” Jackson said with a nod, before he nuzzled Lydia's ear with his nose.

Lydia giggled, swatting playfully at him. “But we're going to be in an open relationship. We're both too sexy not to bang every hot person that crosses our path.”

Peter let out a laugh. “Good to know you have everything worked out.”

After a while, dancing became gaming. Stiles set up a Super Smash Brothers competition on the main TV in the living room, while Cora decided to stomp everyone in Katamari Damacy in her room. Peter tried to join the former, but he got annihilated pretty much immediately and bowed out with as much dignity as he had left.

John and Melissa arrived just after six, and Chris arrived shortly thereafter. “Oh good, now that all the adults are here, I wanted to ask you something,” Peter said, leading them into the kitchen. “What is your opinion on underage drinking?”

“It's illegal,” John said immediately.

“It is,” Peter agreed, lifting a finger. “But I was going to suggest to let the kids drink since they won't be going anywhere. I already confiscated everyone's keys.”

“ _Can_ they get drunk?” Melissa asked. “Most of them are werewolves. I thought their bodies metabolize alcohol too fast.”

“They do, usually,” Peter said, before he opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid. “This is monkshood tincture. It suppresses the metabolism and allows werewolves to get drunk.” He handed it over when she reached for it. “I figured that as long as we watch them, we could allow them to celebrate.”

Chris shrugged. “As long as they don't go overboard.”

John and Melissa looked at each other, sharing a silent communication, before Melissa just nodded and looked back at the bottle in her hand. “Okay, I guess,” John finally gave in.

“Good, because I already bought a ridiculous amount of booze,” Peter said, going to the cabinet to pull out bottle after bottle.

Once the kids realized they were allowed to drink, the party turned pretty happy and totally loud within an hour. Somehow there was a beer pong table. Peter blamed Jackson. And Stiles had finally convinced Derek to dance with him, though only slow dancing.

Peter was leaning against a wall next to Chris, watching as John and Melissa flirted like school kids, giggling at each other and leaning their heads together. Peter was about to say that his plan had definitely worked when all of the sudden he was being picked up by five different people and hauled outside. “Don't you dare!” he cried as someone pulled off his shoes. Then he was tossed. “I will kill youuuu!” The splash he made when he hit the water of the pool was pretty impressive.

He came up sputtering, bringing his hands up to slick his hair back away from his eyes, and he turned to see Derek, Jackson, Laura, Cora and Stiles all laughing on the pool edge. Everyone else was piling out too to see what the fuss was about. They were lucky he was just wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He would have been truly murderous if they got chlorine in one of his dress shirts.

Derek and Jackson leaned down, offering him their hands. He swam over to them, taking their hands and letting them pull him partway out. Then he set his feet against the edge and pushed as he leaned back, and all three of them went careening back into the water.

“Pool party!” someone yelled, probably Stiles, and clothes started coming off.

It looked like everyone had brought their swim suits, and people who didn't just borrowed from other people. Peter fired up the hot tub and declared it a no student zone, leaving it to just him, Chris, Melissa and John. Chris had his arm over the side, so Peter snuggled up against his side and leaned his head against his shoulder.

John and Melissa, who already knew, didn't think anything of it, but eventually the rest of the pack started to notice. Allison all but ran up to the them, standing on the edge, dripping wet in a cute bikini. “What's going on here?” she asked, gesturing to Chris and Peter.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Peter said, so relaxed with a water jet massaging his spine. He had his eyes closed, his face pressed into Chris's neck.

Chris smiled up at her. “I was going to tell you. I just never found the right time.”

“Oh,” Allison said, before she tilted her head. “Are you happy, Dad?”

Chris shifted, and Peter opened his eyes to find him looking his direction, a contemplative look on his face. Peter smile softly, nosing his chin, and Chris chuckled, before he looked back at his daughter. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good,” Allison said with a kind of sigh like there was a weight lifting from her shoulders. She turned away, hurrying to jump into the pool.

Erica was on Boyd's shoulders, grappling with Danny, who was on Ethan's shoulders. She managed to push him off, and she pumped her fists in the air with a whoop. Allison climbed onto Scott's shoulders, challenging her. They strained against each other for a while, then Scott lost his footing and fell backwards. Allison dragged Erica down with her, so the only one left standing was a laughing Boyd.

Pool chicken turned into pool volleyball, and even Chris and Peter got involved in that. The only person that got nailed in the face was Stiles, and Derek fell over himself to attend to him. Peter mentioned there was a first aid kit in the downstairs bedroom's bathroom, so Derek carried Stiles with his bleeding nose away. They didn't come back out, and Peter was pretty sure they wanted to be alone.

People started to drop like flies shortly after that. The first to fall asleep were Scott, Allison and Isaac. They took over the pull out couch in the living room in a mess of towels and blankets. Isaac was in the middle with Allison acting as his big spoon. Scott had his arms around the both of them.

Jackson and Lydia took over the other couch. Laura, Cora, Boyd and Erica all piled onto Cora's bed. Danny and Ethan got a bed to themselves. Melissa and John headed home after they made sure their kids were asleep (though John didn't so much as check of Stiles as ask where he was to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble).

That left Chris and Peter alone in a house full of sleeping pack members. Peter laced his fingers with Chris's and leaned into him. “How much convincing do I have to do to get you to come to bed with me?” he asked, just a little tipsy and pretty sure he was just going to get a kiss and a goodnight. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

Chris hummed in consideration. “Not much. Let's go.”

Peter looked a little stunned. He hadn't expected that to work. “Oh, come on then,” he said, dragging him through the living room.

But then Chris dug his heels in as they passed where Allison, Scott and Isaac were sleeping. “What's going on here?” he asked in a whisper, echoing his daughter's words from before.

Peter grunted unhappily, moving behind Chris and trying to urge him forward. “Remember when I said Allison and Scott reevaluated the terms of their relationship? This is the product of that. Now stop being distracted, let's go.” He gave him a push, smiling when he started moving again.

The moment he got Chris in his bedroom and had the door locked, he all but climbed him like a tree. Chris grunted, his back smacking into the door as Peter pried his lips open with his tongue and sucked at his teeth. Peter was so turned on already that it was ridiculous. Chris had been the subject of his wet dreams for way too long for it to be healthy, and now he was here, their bodies pressed so closely together they were practically one.

Chris tasted a bit like chlorine, a little like beer and a lot like himself, that deep fresh taste and clean scent. He couldn't get enough. He wanted to taste and smell him every moment of every day. He was going to make him roll around in his sheets so that even when he was gone all Peter would need to do is breathe.

He felt Chris's fingers running along his bare back, playing at the waistline of his swim trunks. Peter gave a pleased hum, before he just pushed them down and kicked them away, pressing himself against Chris again so their slightly damp bare chests slid together like puzzle pieces trying to find a hold. He growled when Chris's long fingers dipped into the cleft off his ass, and he rocked his hips forward.

Suddenly Peter realized something. Maybe Chris had never been with a man before, and that was why he had insisted they take things so slowly. He got a little worried as he was backed toward the bed. He didn't want to make Chris uncomfortable. He was going to voice his concerns the moment Chris stopped sucking on his tongue. He wanted a relationship based on honesty and trust. He was pushed down on the bed, and he was about to ask if Chris was sure about this, but then he knee was grabbed and he was flipped over. All concerns flew right out of Peter's head when Chris spread him open and very confidently dragged his tongue right across his hole.

“Oh!” Peter gasped, pillowing his face against his folded arms and letting out a low moan. That was not was he was expecting. Now he felt like he had been played, that Chris had really enjoyed drawing out their dating and making him so sexually frustrated that he thought he was going to explode. What an dick, though he couldn't be too mad since Chris's tongue was swirling around his hole like it belonged there.

Chris stabbed his tongue in, wiggling past resistance to piston in and out as Peter quivered, trying not to move and just let Chris do what he wanted. Chris maneuvered a finger in alongside his tongue, slowly since Peter was still so tight. He hooked the rim of his hole, tugging it gently to loosen him so his tongue could reach deeper inside.

Peter was panting into his arms, whimpering as his toes curled. God, it hurt just enough for it to be sweet. It had been a long, long time since someone had taken him apart like this, and Chris had done it with just a few clever flicks of his tongue. He was keeping this one. There was no way Chris was going to be able to get away from him now.

Chris drew back with a long, torturous lick along the rim of Peter's hole. “Lube?” he asked against the skin of his ass, voice low and a bit hoarse.

Peter just pointed at the bedside table, watching over the top of his bicep as Chris pulled out his bottle of lube and a condom. He heard the click of the cap, shivering in anticipation, before he arched as a slick finger started to press into him, going far deeper than Chris's tongue possibly could. He moaned into his arm, pushing back, wanting more.

Chris gave it to him, adding another finger and spreading them apart so that a soft burn rolled up Peter's spine. He moved his fingers in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, just gently stretching him. Peter wanted to tell him that he didn't have to take so much care with him, but then he loved this so much that he couldn't bare to stop it.

He keened when Chris's fingers rubbed up against his prostate, before he bit into the flesh of his forearm. Chris rubbed that spot without mercy, chuckling in the quiet of the room as Peter rocked his hips back rhythmically. Peter just growled at him. “Are you going to fuck me or just give me a prostate exam?”

Chris let out a laugh, before he removed his fingers and the sound of the condom wrapper being ripped open filled the air. Then Chris manhandled him onto his side so he could press up against him, his chest flush against Peter's back, and slowly push up into him. Peter put his head back, moaning out a low, guttural sound and putting his hand back to grip the back of Chris's head.

“Fuck,” Peter bit out as Chris grabbed him under the knee and lifted his leg so he could rock into him deep, the head of his cock dragging mercilessly over his prostate. “God, yes.” He twisted his hips back, meeting each slow, strong thrust. When he was of saner mind, he would realize that Chris had definitely been hiding some serious skill from him, but for now it was all he could do not to moan so loud that he would alert the sleeping wolves downstairs.

“Harder,” Peter demanded in a moan, before he gasped as one near brutal stab of Chris's cock made fireworks of pleasure go off low in him. “That's it.”

“Touch yourself,” Chris hissed into his ear, before he bit the lobe. “Or are you going to make me do all the work?”

Peter almost didn't want to. He wanted this to last. But he couldn't help but mind him, wrapping his hand around his bobbing dick and stroking it in time with the quickening pace of Chris's hips.

The sounds Chris was making, oh, Peter couldn't begin to explain them. They were low, punched out of him in grunts and moans, like he was trying to hold them back but couldn't. Chris was panted hard into Peter's ear, his bottom lip catching on the shell every now and again. Peter whined right back, biting his own lips to try to keep his noises in, but he only just failed spectacularly.

Chris trailed his lips along his shoulder, kissing exposed skin. He nipped and licked at his neck, and Peter tilted his head away to give him as much access as he wanted. It made something low in him curl and burn to have his neck bared to someone else, him being an alpha or no. And when Chris bit down on the flesh just short of breaking it, he let out a sharp cry, coming over his fingers as his eyes bled red.

Chris lowered his leg to the bed, taking hold of his hip and thrusting hard, making him whimper as shock waves of pleasure rolled through his sensitive body. When he came, it was with a low moan against Peter's neck, his hips twitching. Then he sagged, draping his arm over Peter's middle and just leaning into him.

Peter tried to get his breathing back under control. He closed his eyes and listened to Chris, smiling as he found his breathing just as ragged. He turned his head to look at him, before he clenched his muscles around his softening dick, making him jerk with a hiss.

“Asshole,” Chris whispered, slowly pulling out and tugging off the condom. He tied it off and located a bin to drop it into with a plop. Then he laid back, stretching out his limbs.

Peter reached over with a heavy limb to get a tissue to wipe off his fingers and stomach. He then took the opportunity to roll over and wrap one arm and one leg around Chris, nuzzling into his shoulder. He felt comfortably warm, the ache in his backside slowly lessening as his werewolf healing took care of it. It would be gone in minutes, and he would miss it, but he knew that he and Chris would be doing this again—lots of times—so he wasn't too worried.

They laid there in silence, long moments turning into long minutes as their breathing slowly synchronized. Peter's head was slowly filling with fuzz, his body getting heavier with every passing second. He knew he should probably grab the blanket that had ended up at the end of the bed, but he was so damn comfortable.

“I should go,” Chris said, sounding half asleep himself. Peter just tightened his grip on him. “My daughter is downstairs.” As if that mattered at all. Peter held him all the tighter. Chris huffed out a little laugh. “Planning on wrapping around me and keeping me here with your preternatural strength?”

“Mmhm,” was Peter's groggy answer.

“I thought you were an alpha werewolf, not an alpha wereoctopus.”

Peter chuckled. “I'd be hot with tentacles,” he slurred out.

“I have wolfsbane,” Chris said, turning his head to put his lips against Peter's hair.

“Won't work against a wereoctopus,” Peter informed him.

He opened his eyes, tilting his head up to look at Chris and giving him a little grin. Chris just laughed softly, which made Peter laughed, and they deteriorated into manly giggles before sleep pulled them under. Peter didn't move once in his sleep, which was unusual for him, but it was probably because he was too happy clinging to Chris.

When they woke up, mostly everyone was already awake and moving about, so they got to witness them coming down the stairs together. The pack clapped and cheered, embarrassing Chris so much that he hid his face in his hand. Peter, on the other hand, took a bow. This wasn't a walk of shame. This was a Got Laid Parade.

Laura made waffles, and everything was good in the world.

* * *

Because Peter was a bit of a sadist, he decided to text Chris one day and ask, **How much would you hate me if I shouted 'yeehaw!' while riding your dick?**

It didn't take long for his phone to start to sing out with Chris's new tone. _Can I just have one a' more moondance with you, my love? Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love?_ His response was, **Come over and find out.**

Peter smiled. **Be right there. I just have to stop somewhere and buy a cowboy hat and assless chaps.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again, [WhatTheHale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthehale), for making my madness into something readable.
> 
> Here is a list of what everyone's text tones are, minus John because I couldn't come up with anything but he's not a texter anyway. Some of these didn't make it into the story, but here they are anyway.  
> Laura - We Got The World by Icona Pop  
> Derek - Bad Moon Rising by Creedance Clearwater Revival since Peter is not above bad wolf jokes.  
> Cora - Fight by No Vacancy  
> Scott - Underdog by Imagine Dragons  
> Allison - Mz Hyde by Halestorm  
> Stiles - The Fox by Ylvis  
> Lydia - Witchy Woman by The Eagles  
> Jackson - Classic Godzilla Theme  
> Erica - The Walker by Fitz And The Tantrums  
> Boyd - Jazz Saxophones  
> Isaac - Knight of Cydonia by Muse  
> Danny - Hips Don't Lie by Shakira  
> Melissa - Pills by New York Dolls  
> Chris - First it was The Panic In Me by Elton John and later Moondance by Michael Buble


End file.
